
Glass. 



Frencn's Acting Edition. No. 2496. 



U T' 



ILL LEAVE IT 
TO YOU" 

A Light Comedy in Three Acts 



BY 

NOEL COWARD 



TWO SHILLINGS AND SIXPENCE NET 



LONDON 
SAMUEL FRENCH. LTD. 

PuUithvrs 
26 SOUTHAMPTON STREET PuUi.W 

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NEW YORK 

SAMUEL FRENCH 



SCENERY 



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have endeavoured to cope %vith the situation by providing 

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or buying painted canvas scenery is very considerable, but 
by printing large quantities we can sell outright at a rate 
comparing favourably with that usually charged for the 
HIRE of p^ted canvas scenery. 

The primary object we have had in view has been to pro- 
vide scenery which, by easy adjustment and additional sheets 
of lithographed paper, can be made to fit any reasonable 
size of stage. 



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by any local carpenter. 

Any questions on the subject of our scenery will be 
gladly and promptly answered, and if the particuleurs 
of your stage — the height, the width, and depth, together 
with the position in which you require the doors, fireplace, 
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mate of the cost, either for the paper alone or moimted 
on calico. 

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FULLY ILLUSTRATED CATALOGUE 
sent gratis on application. 

Turn to next page of cover. 






"I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU" 



ONE ACT PLAYS BY GERTRUDE JENNINGS 
Published at one shilling net each by Samuel French, Limited 



ACID DROPS. One male, six female characters. 

ALLOTMENTS. Two female characters, both of which can 
be impersonated by men if desired. 

.AT THE RIBBON COUNTER. Three female characters. 

THE BATHROOM DOOR. Three male, three female char- 
acters. 

BETWEEN THE SOUP AND THE SAVOURY. Three 
female characters. 

BOBBIE SETTLES DOWN. One male, three fem.de 
characters. 

ELEGANT EDWARD. Four male, one female characters, 

FIVE BIRDS IN A CAGE. Three male, two female char- 
acters. 

NO SERVANTS. One male, five female characters. 

" FM SORRY— IT'S OUT! " Seven female characters. 

IN THE CELLAR. Three male, three female characters. 

POACHED EGGS AND PEARLS. Three male, six female 
characters. 

THE REST CURE. One male, four female characters. 

T HE NEW POOR. One male, four female characters. 

WA ITING FOR THE 'B US. Two male, ten female characters. 



FOUR ONE ACT PLAYS BY GERTRUDE JENNINGS. 
In one volume, containing " The Rest Gure," "Between the 
Soup and the Savoury," " The Pros and Cons," and "Acid 
Drops." Two shillings and sixpence net. 



44 



I'LL LEAVE IT 
TO YOU" 

A LIGHT COMEDY IN 
THREE ACTS 



BY 
NOEL COWARD 



Copyright 1920 by Samuel Frenxh, Ltd. 
All rights reserved 



London , j^^^^ York 

SAMUEL FRENCH, Ltd. SAMUEL FRENCH 

Publishers 

26 SOUTHAMPTON ST. | Publisher 

STRAND. W.C.2 I -^-30 WEST 3STH STREET 



^ 






^ 



t* 



.<X 



-^^ 



TO 

MY MOTHER 



I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU " 



Produced on Wednesday, July 21, 1920, at the New Theatre, London, with 
the following Cast of Characters : — 



Mrs. Deemott 

Oliver 

Evangeline 

Sylvia [.(Her Children)- 

BOBBIE 

Joyce 

Daniel Davis (Her Brother) 

Mrs. Crombie 

Faith Crombie 

Griggs (Butler) 



3Iiss Kate Cutler, 
Mr.Douglas Jefferies. 
Miss Mtiriel Pope. 
Miss Stella Jesse. 
Mr. Noel Cowards 
Miss Maya Nugent. 
Mr. E.Holman Clark. 
Miss Lois Stuart. 
Miss Esme Wynne. 
Mr. David Clarkson. 



The action of the play takes place in Mulberry Manor, Mrs. Dermott's 
house, a few miles out of London. 



Eighteen months elapse between acts one and two, and one night between 
acts two and three. 



The fee for the representation of this play by amateurs is Five Guineas, 
payable in advance to the sole proprietors of the rights of representation by 
amateurs : — 

Messrs. Samuel French, Ltd., 

26 Southampton Street, 

Strand, London, W.C.2. 
or their authorized representatives. 

A written permission for the performance to take place will then be issued 
and no performance may be held unless this written authority has first been 
obtained. 

In the event of further performances bemg given the fee for each and every 
representation subsequent to the first is Four Guineas. This reduction applies 
only in the case of the performances being consecutive and at the same theatre 
or hall. 

All costumes and wigs used in the performance of plays contained in French's 
Acting Edition may be obtained from Messrs. Charles H. Fox, Ltd., 27 
Wellington Street, Strand, London, W.C.2. 



iGl.D 5 60 33 
NOV 17I92Q 



'• I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU " 

A plan of the stage of the New Theatre, London, set for the play is 
given at the end of the book. 

Scene. — The Hall of Mulberry Manor. All the furniture looks very 
comfortable. Through the window can be seen a glimpse of a snowy 
garden ; there is a log fire. The light is a little dim, being late 
afternoon. Seated on the table swinging her legs is Joyce, she is 
attired in a fur coat and goloshes, very little else can be seen, except 
a pink healthy looking young face. Sylvia is seated on the Chester- 
field R. She is twenty-one and exceedingly pretty. It is about five 
days before Christmas. 

Joyce {brightly). My feet are simply soaking. 
Sylvia {sewing). Why on earth don't you go and change them ? 

You'll catch cold. 

(Bobbie enters r. He is a slim, bright-looking youth of twenty.) 

Joyce. I don't mind if I do. {Laughs.) Colds are fun. 

Bobbie. She loves having a fuss made of her, beef tea — chicken — 
jelly with whipped cream — and fires in her bedroom, little Sybarite. 

Joyce. So do you. 

Bobbie {comes c). No, I don't ; whenever my various ailments 
confine me to my bed, I chafe — positively chafe at the terrible 
inactivity. I want to be up and about, shooting, riding, cricket, 
football, ludo, the usual run of manly sports. 

Sylvia. Knowing you for what you are — lazy, luxurious 

Bobbie {pained). Please, please, please, not in front of the child. 
(Joyce kicks). It's demoralizing for her to hear her idolized brother 
held up to ridicule. 

Joyce. You're not my idolized brother at all — Oliver is. {Turn- 
ing away, pouting.) 

Bobbie {seated r. on Chesterfield, sweetly). If that were reaUy so, 
dear, I know you have much too kind a heart to let me know it. 

Sylvia. What is the matter with you this afternoon, Bobbie — 
you are very up in the air about something. 

(Joyce takes her coat off, puts on back of chair r. of table). 

Bobbie {rising and sitting on club fender). Merely another instance 
of the triumph of mind over matter ; in this case a long and healthy 
walk was the matter. I went into the lobby to put on my snow boots 

7 



8 "I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 

and then — as is usually the case with me — my mind won. I thought 
of tea, crumpets and comfort. Oliver has gone without me, he simply 
bursts with health and extraordinary dullness. Personally I shall 
continue to be delicate and interesting. 

Sylvia (seriously). You may have to work, Bobbie. 

Bobbie. Eeally, Sylvia, you do say the most awful things, 
remember Joyce is only a school-girl, she'll be quite shocked. 

Joyce. We work jolly hard at school, anyhow. 

Bobbie. Oh, no you don't. I've read the modern novelists, 
and I know ; all you do is walk about with arms entwined, and write 
poems of tigerish adoration to your mistresses. It's a beautiful 
existence. 

Joyce. You are a silly ass. (Picks up magazine.) 

Sylvia. It's all very well to go on fooling Bobbie, but really we 
shall have to pull ourselves together a bit. Mother's very worried, 
as you know ; money troubles are perfectly beastly, and she hasn't 
told us nearly all. I do so hate her to be upset, poor darling. 

Bobbie. What can we do ? (Sits l. end of Chesterfield. Joyce 
2Mts down magazine and listens.) 

Sylvia. Think of a way to make money. 

Bobbie. It's difficult now that the war is over. 

Sylvia. That's cheap wit, dear ; also it's the wrong moment 
for it. (Joyce giggles.) 

Bobbie. It's always the wrong moment for cheap wit, admitting 
for one moment that it was, which it wasn't. 

Joyce. Oh, do shut up, you make my head go round. 

(Enter Evangeline downstairs ; she is tall and almost heautifulf 
she carries a book in her hand.) 

Bobbie (turning). Oh, Vangy, do come and join us ; we're on the 
verge of a congress. 

Evangeline. I must read some more Maeterlinck. (Posing.) 

Bobbie. You mean you must let us see you reading Maeterlinck. 

Evangeline (goes to him, hack of Chesterfield, touches his hair). 
Try not to be so irritating, Bobbie dear ; just because you don't happen 
to appreciate good literature, it's very small and narrow to laugh 
at people who do. 

Sylvia. But seriously, Vangy, we are rather worried (Evangeline 
moves) about mother ; she's been looking harassed for days. 

Evangeline (sitting in armchair). What about ? 

Sylvia. Money, money, money ! Haven't you realized that ? 
Uncle Daniel sent a pretty substantial cheque from South America 
(all nod) that helped things on a bit after Father's death, but that 
must be gone by now — and mother won't say how much father left. 

Joyce. Perhaps she doesn't know. 

Bobbie. She must know now, he's been dead nearly six months — 
inconsiderate old beast. 



"I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 9 

Sylvia. Bobbie, you're not to talk about father like that. 
I won't have it ; after all 

Bobbie. After all what ? — He was perfectly rotten to mother, 
and never came near her for four years before his death. Why should 
we be charming and reverent about him just because he's our father. 
When I saw him I hated him, and his treatment of mum hasn't 
made me like him any better, I can tell you. 

Evangeline. But still, Bobbie, he was our father, and mother 
was fond of him — (Bobbie. Ha !) — once, anyhow there's nothing 
to be gained by running him down. 

Sylvia. The point is, have we enough money to keep on as we 
are, or haven't we ? 

Joyce {quickly). The only one who knows is mother, and she 
won't say. 

Sylvia. We haven't asked her yet ; we'll make her say. Where 
is she ? 

Bobbie. Up in her room, I think. 

Sylvia. Go and fetch her down. {Puts sewing on form.) 

Bobbie. What, now ? 

Sylvia. Yes, now. 

Bobbie. Oh, no ! 

Sylvia and Evangeline. Yes, go along. 

Bobbie. Righto ! we'll tackle her straight away. 

{Exit Bobbie upstairs.) 

Joyce {goes to Evangeline). Do — do you think we may have 
to leave this house ? 

Sylvia. I don't know. 

Joyce. I should simply hate that. {Sits on right end of form.) 

Evangeline. So should we all — it would be miserable. 

Sylvia. Think how awful it must be for mother. 

Joyce. I say, don't you think Oliver ought to be here — if any- 
thing's going to happen ? He's the eldest. 

Sylvia. He wouldn't be any help. He cares for nothing 
but the inside of motors and the outside of Maisie Stuart ; he's not 
observant enough to know her inside. 

Evangeline. What a perfectly horrible thing to say ! 

Sylvia. Well, it's absolutely true ; he thinks she's everything 
that's good and noble, when all the time she's painfully ordinary 
and a bit of a cat ; what fools men are. 

Joyce {blase). One can't help falling in love. 

{Enter Mrs. Dermott downstairs followed by Bobbie ; she is a pretty 
little woman ivith rather a plaintive manner.) 

Mrs. Dermott {as she descends). Bobbie says you all want to 
talk to me ! What's the matter, darlings ? {Comes c.) 



10 "I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 

Sylvia. That's what we want to know, mum; come on now, 
out with it. You've been looking worried for ever so long. 

(Bobbie stays at foot of stairs.) 

Mes. Dermott. I don't know what you mean, Sylvia dear, 



Sylvia. Now listen to me, mother ; you've got something on 
your mind, that's obvious to any one ; you're not a bit good at hiding 
your feelings. Surely we're all old enough to share the worry, what- 
ever it is. 

Mrs. Dermott {kissing her). Silly old darlings — it's true I have 
been a little worried — you see, we're ruined. 

Sylvia. 

Evangeline. Mother ! 

Bobbie. 

Joyce. 

{The girls rise.) 

Mrs. Dermott {shaJcing her head sadly). Yes, we're ruined ; we 
haven't a penny. {Moves to chair heloiv table.) 

Sylvia. Why didn't you tell us before ? 

Mrs. Dermott {sitting). I only knew it myself this morning, I 
had a letter from Tibbets ; he's been through all the papers and 
things. 

Evangeline. Father's papers ? 

Mrs. Dermott. I suppose so, dear. There wouldn't be any 
others, would there ? 

Bobbie {coming down). But mother, what did he say, how did 
he put it ? 

Mrs. Dermott. I really forget — but I know it worried me dread- 
fully. 

(Joyce sits on form.) 

Evangeline. And we literally haven't a penny ? 
Mrs. Dermott. Well, only fifteen hundred a year ; it's almost 
as bad. 

(Evangeline sits in armchair.) 

Joyce. Shall we have to give up the house ? 

Mrs. Dermott. I'm afraid so, darling ; you see there are taxes 
and rates and things. Tibbets knows all about it — he's coming down 
to-night. 

Sylvia. Can't Uncle Daniel do anything ? 

(Bobbie sits on table.) 

Mrs. Dermott. He's my only hope. I cabled to South America 
three weeks ago. I didn't know the worst then, but I felt I wanted 
some one to lean on — after all, his cheque was a great help. 



"I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 11 

Joyce. Is he very, very rich ? 

Mrs. Dermott. He must be, he's a bachelor, and he has a ranch 
and a mine and things, 

Bobbie. Has he answered your cable ? 

Mrs. Dermott. No, but of course he may have been out pros- 
pecting or broncho-breaking or something when it arrived. They 
live such restless lives out there — oh, no, I don't think he'll fail me, 
he's my only brother. 

Evangeline. I wonder how much he has got. 

Mrs. Dermott. Perhaps Tibbets will know — we'll ask him. 

Bobbie. Why, is he Uncle Daniel's lawyer as well ? 

Mrs. Dermott. No, dear, but you know lawyers are always 
clever at knowing other people's business — I shall never forget 

Bobbie. Yes — but mother, what will happen if he isn't rich, 
and doesn't help us after all ? 

Mrs. Dermott. I really don't know, darling. It's terribly 
upsetting, isn't it ? 

Joyce. It will be awful having to give up the house. 

Mrs. Dermott. Well, Tibbets says we needn't for another two 
years. It's paid for until then or something. 

Sylvia {sits on the Chesterfield). Thank heaven ! What a relief ! 

Mrs. Dermott. But we shall have to be awfully careful. Oh, 
darlings {she breaks dow7i), thank God I've got you. {Weeps 
on Bobbie's knee.) 

Sylvia. Buck up mother, it isn't as bad as all that. After all, 
we can work. 

Bobbie {without enthusiasm). Yes, we can work. {Moving from 
table to R.) 

Evangeline. I shall write things, really artistic little frag- 
ments • 

Bobbie. We want to make money, Vangy. 

Mrs. Dermott. But, darlings, you know you can't make money 
unless you're Socialists and belong to Unions and things. 

Evangeline. Well, I know / should make money in time. 
There's a great demand for really good stuff now. 

Sylvia. Do you think yours is really good ? 

Evangeline. I'm sure it is. 

(Mrs. Dermott reads a magazine.) 

Bobbie. Well, God help the bad. 

Evangeline {rising). Look here, Bobbie, I'm tired of your 
silly jeering at me. Just stop trying to be funny. {Moves to 

L.C.) 

Bobbie {hotly). I realize the futility of endeavour when I see 
how funny others can be ivithout trying {following her.) 
Evangeline. Ill-bred little pip squeak! 



12 "I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 

Joyce {jumping up ; firing). He's not a pip squeak. Fanny 
Harris says he's the most good-looking boy she's ever seen. 

Evangeline. She can't have seen many then. {Moves to fire- 
place.) 

Bobbie. Oh ! Don't betray your jealousy of my looks, Evange- 
line. It's so degrading. 

Evangeline. I tell you 

Mrs. Dermott. Children, stop quarelling at once. I think it's 
most inconsiderate of you under the circumstances. 

(Bobbie sits on table hack to audience. There is silence for a moment. 
Enter Griggs from hall with a telegram.) 

Griggs. For you, madam. 

{All show an interest.) 

Mrs. Dermott {taking it). Thank you, Griggs. {She opens it and 
reads it.) There is no answer, Griggs. 

{Exit Griggs, r.) 
My dears ! 

Joyce. What is it, mother, quick ? 

Mrs. Dermott (reading). Arrive this afternoon — about tea 
time, Daniel. 

Sylvia. Uncle Daniel ! 

Evangeline. In England ! 

Mrs. Dermott. I suppose so. It was handed in at Charing 
Cross. 

Bobbie. What luck ! {Gets off table.) 

Mrs. Dermott. We're saved — oh, my darlings ! {She breaks 
down again.) 

Joyce. He may not have any money after all. 

Mrs. Dermott. He'd never have got across so quickly if he 
hadn't. {She sniffs.) Oh, it's too, too wonderful — I have not seen 
him for six years. 

Bobbie. As a matter of fact it is jolly decent of him to be so 
prompt. 

Mrs. Dermott. Where's Oliver ? He ought to be here to wel- 
come him too. 

Bobbie (c). Oliver has gone for a brisk walk, to keep fit he 
said, as if it made any difierence whether he kept fit or not. 

Mrs. Dermott. It makes a lot of difference, dear. He is the 
athletic one of the family. (Bobbie is annoyed.) I don't like the 
way you speak of him, Bobbie. We can't all compose songs and 
be brilliant. You must try and cultivate a little toleration for 
others, darling. (Oliver passes window from L.) Oliver is a great 
comfort to me. Tibbets only said 

Evangeline {glancing out of the windoiv). Here he is, anyhow. 
Who's going to tell him the nev;s ? 



"I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 13 

Mrs. Dermott (rising, goes to stairs). Well, I've no time now, I 
must change my dress for Daniel. Turn on the lights, Bobbie ; 
make everything look as cosy and festive as you can. (Ow stairs.) 
Run into the kitchen, Joyce dear, and tell cook to make an extra 
supply of hot cakes for tea. I'm sure Daniel will love them after 
being so long abroad and living on venison and bully beef and things. 
{Ascending, then turns.) You will all wash before tea, won't you, 
darlings ? It's always so important to make a good first impression, 
and he hasn't seen any of you since you've been grown up. {Glances 
in mirror.) Oh ! look at my face, I look quite happy now. 

{Exit Mrs. Dermott itpstairs.) 

Sylvia. I think mother is rather mixing up North and South 
America ; they don't have such awful hardships where Uncle Daniel 
comes from. 

{Enter Oliver from hall ; he is a thick-set, determined-looking man 

of twenty-five.) 

Oliver. Hallo. {Crossing to table, l.c.) 

Joyce (going to him, excitedly). Something wonderful has hap- 
pened, Oliver. 

Oliver. What is it ? 

Joyce. We're ruined. I've just got to go and order extra 
teacakes. Isn't it all thrilling ? 

(Exit Joyce into hall.) 

Oliver. What on earth's she talking about ? 

Sylvia. It's perfectly true. We haven't any money, but Uncle 
Daniel's coming to-day, and we're sure he'll help us. 

Oliver (dazed). Haven't any money, but 

Evangeline (at fire). Mother's been rather vague as usual, but 
we gather that we're practically penniless, and that we shall have 
to give up the house after two years unless something happens. 

Sylvia. Luckily Uncle Daniel is happening — this afternoon. 
Mother's just had a wire from him — he's certain to be rich, mother 
says. 

(Bobbie leaning against stairs.) 

Oliver. Why ? 

Sylvia. Because he's a bachelor, and has been living in South 
America for five years. 

Bobbie. Six years. 

Sylvia. Five years. 

Bobbie. Six years — mother said so. 

Sylvia. No, she didn't 

Oliver. Well, it doesn't matter. How does mother know we're 
penniless ? 



14 "I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 

Bobbie {coming c). She heard from Tibbets this morning, he's 
coming down to-night. 

Oliver (sinking into chair). By Jove, what a muddle ! 

(Joyce re-enters, crosses to chair l.c, takes coat and exits up stairs.) 

Sylvia. It's all quite clear when you' think it out. 

Bobbie (c). We've all got to wash and make ourselves look 
clean and sweet for Uncle Daniel. Your collar's filthy ; you'd better 
go and change it quickly. He may be here at any minute. 

Sylvia. Turn on the lights, Bobbie — and do let's hurry. 

(Bobbie turns up the lights and goes upstairs followed by Oliver. 
Evangeline goes up slowly after them.) 

Oliver. What a muddle ! What a muddle ! {As he crosses to 
stairs.) 

Evangeline {following him). What a muddle ! What a muddle ! 
{Turns on stairs.) Shall I put on my emerald green tea gown ? {To 
Sylvia.) 

Sylvia. No, dear ; it's ever so much too old for you. 

Evangeline {piqued). I don't think it's at all too old for me. 
I shall certainly put it on. 

{She disappears upstairs. Sylvia is left alone. Suddenly there comes 
a loud 2)eal at the front door bell. Sylvia sees some half-made 
crSpe-de-chine underclotlies on form, takes them, hides them under 
cushions on window seat l. Draws curtains to window l., then 
l.c. as enter Gb,iggs , followed by Uncle Daniel in an opulent- 
looking fur coat — he is a tall, stoutish man of about forty-five. 
Sylvia shrinks back by stairs.) 

Griggs {assisting him off with his coat). If you will wait, sir, 
I'll tell Mrs. Dermott you are here. 

Daniel. Thank you. {Goes round to fireplace, warms hands, 
turns. 

(Griggs has meanwhile taken his coat into the lobby. Sylvia creeps 
cautiously from behind and goes towards stairs. Daniel looks 
round and sees her. He watches her in silence for a moment, as 
she goes up a few stairs.) 

Excuse me — have you been stealing anything ? 

Sylvia {jumping). Oh, Uncle Daniel — I didn't want you to see me. 

Daniel. Why not ? 

Sylvia. I wanted to change my frock and do my hair. 

Daniel. It looks quite charming as it is — I suppose you are 
Evangeline ? 

Sylvia. No I'm not, I'm Sylvia. {Coming to him.) 

Daniel {below Chesterfield). Sylvia ! I didn't know there was a 
Sylvia. 



"I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 15 

Sylvia (r.c, laughing). I was having concussion last time you 
were here, having cut my head open on a door scraper at school. 
Naturally you wouldn't remember me. 

Daniel. Oh, but I do now, you were the sole topic of conversa- 
tion at lunch. How foolish of me to have let you slip my memory. 
Where are all the others ? 

Sylvia. They're upstairs improving on the Almighty's concep- 
tion of them as much as possible in your honour ; I was just going 
to do the same when you caught me. 

Daniel. You looked extraordinarily furtive. 

Sylvia. And untidy. We've just been having a sort of family 
conference. It was very heating. 

Daniel. I think you might have waited for me — I'm a most 
important factor. What were you discussing ? 

Sylvia. Oh — er — ways and means. 

Daniel. I see, it's as bad as that ! 

Sylvia. But you wait until mother comes. She'll explain 
everything. I'll go and hurry her up. {She goes U]) stairs.) 

Daniel. Don't leave me all alone. I'm a timid creature. 

Sylvia (turns). After all that Broncho busting ! I don't think ! 

{Exit Sylvia upstairs.) 

Daniel. Broncho busting ! What on earth does she mean ? 
{He walks slowly to fireplace and stands with his back to it.) 

Enter Mrs. Dermott down stairs. They meet c.) 

Mrs. Dermott. Danny ! Danny ! darling 

Daniel (c). Anne ! {He kisses her fondly.) 

Mrs. Dermott. Oh, my dear, you have been away such a long 
time. 

Daniel {he turns her round to r.). Well, this is splendid — you 
do look fit ! Do you know I've often longed to be home. I've 
imagined winter afternoons just like this — with a nice crackly fire 
and tea and muffins in the grate. {Putting her on Chesterfield.) 

Mrs. Dermott. Oh well, they're not in the grate yet, dear, but 
they will be soon. I ordered a special lot because I knew you loved 
them. 

{He sits beside her ; she is nearest the fire.) 

Mrs. Dermott. I can never thank you enough for sending 
the cheque, Danny. 

Daniel. Oh, rubbish. 

Mrs. Dermott. It was the greatest help in the world. 

Daniel. I started for home the very moment I heard you were 
in trouble ; has everything been very, very trying ? 

Mrs. Dermott. Only during the last few days. You see, 
George hadn't been near me for four years before he died, so it 



16 "I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 

wasn't such a terrible shock as it might have been. Of course, he 

was my husband, and it was upsetting, but still 

Daniel. He behaved like a beast to you, and- 



Mrs. Dermott. Well, he's dead now — but don't let's discuss my 
afiairs. Tell me about yourself ; what have you been doing 1 

Daniel. That can wait. Considering that the sole object of 
my coming to England was to help you, I think we ought to con- 
centrate. Tell me now, has he left you very badly ofi ? 

Mrs. Dermott. Well, Tibbets says we're ruined, but you know 
what Tibbets is. Such a pessimist ! 

Daniel. Tibbets ? 

Mrs. Dermott. Yes, our lawyer, you know. 

Daniel. Do I ? How much have you got ? 

Mrs. Dermott. I think Tibbets said about fifteen hundred ; 
of course we can't keep the house and family going on that, can 
we ? 

Daniel. Of course we can't. What do the children intend to do ? 

Mrs. Dermott. Well, they don't quite know, poor darlings. 

Daniel. Poor darlings ! Is Oliver at home ? 

Mrs. Dermott. Yes. He's going to be a barrister or an engineer. 
He's very vague about it, but has been learning Pelmanism, so I 
know he's going to be something. 

Daniel. I see. Bobbie ? 

Mrs. Dermott. Oh, Bobbie, he's so young. Of course, it's not 
his fault. 

Daniel. Naturally. 

Mrs. Dermott. He composes, you know — beautiful little songs, 
• — mostly about moonlight. Evangeline writes the words. She is 
very artistic, and 

Daniel. What does Sylvia do ? 

Mrs. Dermott. Oh, she helps me. 

Daniel. In what way ? 

Mrs. Dermott. Oh — er — she — well — she does the flowers, and 
comes calling with me, and she's invaluable at jumble sales, when 
we have them. 

Daniel. And the youngest ? 

Mrs. Dermott. Joyce ? Oh, she's still at school — she's going 
to Roedean next year to be finished. 

Daniel. Finished ? Oh, I see ! Well ! They sound a pretty 
hopeless lot. 

Mrs. Dermott. Oh, Danny, how can you be so horrid ? ^ Why, 
they're all darlings ! You can't expect them to work. They've not 
been brought up to it. 

Daniel. I think it's about time they started. 

{Enter Evangeline down stairs, followed hy Oliver, Bobbie and 
Joyce. Sylvia comes last.) 



"I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 17 

Mrs. Dermott {rising, hack to audience). Here they are. Children, 
this is Uncle Daniel. 

(Daniel rises, stands l. of Chesterfield.) 

Evangeline {gracefully embracing him). I remember you quite 

well. 

Daniel. Splendid. Evangeline ? 

Evangeline. Yes, Evangeline. {Crosses to fire, down stage.) 
Oliver {shaking hands). So do I. {Moves to above Evangeline.) 
Bobbie {shaking hands). I don't remember you a bit, but I may 

later when we all start reminiscencing. {Goes l.) 

Joyce {kissing him). We've been simply longing for you to come 

home. 

Daniel. Little Joyce {Joyce moves to top of table) 

Sylvia {kissing him). D'you know you haven't changed a bit 

since I last saw you ! 

(Daniel smiles at her.) 

Daniel. May I say that it gives me immeasurable joy to be 
here once more in the bosom of my family. {Sits on Chesterfield.) 

Bobbie. We're not really your family, but never mind. 

Daniel. I don't. But I have looked forward to this moment 
through the long sun-scorched nights with the great dome of the 
sky above me — shapes have drifted out of the surrounding blackness 
and beckoned to me, crying " Home, home " in depressing voices. 
I have heard the sand-bug calling to its mate. " Home," it said, and 
bit me 

(Sylvia sits on arm of chair, r.c.) 

Mrs. Dermott. Silly old darling, Danny. {Sitsn. of Chesterfield.) 
Joyce. What did you do out there. Uncle ? 

Daniel. Lots of things — gold mining, ranching, auction 

Bobbie. Auction ? {Leaning on table.) 
Mrs. Dermott. Is it a very wonderful life, Danny ? 
Daniel. Occasionally — on good days. 
Bobbie. How do you mean, good days ? 
Daniel {rather embarrassed). Well — er — just good days. 
Mrs. Dermott. Do come and sit down, all of you ; you look so 
terribly restless. 

{They sit, Oliver on arm of Chesterfield, Joyce crosses to form r., 
Evangeline on club-fender, Bobbie chair below table, Sylvia 
arm-chair.) 

Daniel. I feel restless. It must be the home surroundings 
after all these years. 
Bobbie. I should love to go abroad. 



18 "I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 

Daniel. It would make a man of you, my boy. 

Bobbie. I should simply loathe that. 

Daniel. So should I between ourselves, but still . Oh, by 

the way, I — I have something rather important to say to you, you 

must prepare yourselves for a shock — I — I (He dabs his eyes 

with his handkerchief.) 

Mrs. Dermott. What on earth is it, Danny ? 

Daniel. I — I {Another dab.) 

Sylvia. Oh, uncle, tell us. 

Daniel. I — er — it's this. I consulted my doctor just before I 
sailed. 

Mrs. Dermott. Yes ? 

Daniel. He — he gave me just three years to live. 

Mrs. Dermott. Danny, what do you mean ? 

Daniel (firmly). It's true — three years, he said. 

Mrs. Dermott. It's the most awful thing. Tell us why — what's 
the matter with you ? (Quickly.) 

Daniel (rather staggered). The matter with me ? 

Mrs. Dermott. Yes, of course, you must see a specialist at once. 

Daniel (pidling himself together dramatically). No specialist in 
the world could ever do me any good. 

Mrs. Dermott. Well, what is it ? For God's sake tell us ! 

Daniel (takes big breath). Sleeping sickness ! (Smiles broadly at 
Mrs. Dermott.) 

Mrs. Dermott. What ! ! (They all move.) 

Daniel. Yes, it's frightfully prevalent out there. 

Mrs. Dermott. Oh, Danny, I hope its not infectious. 

Oliver. Sleeping sickness ! By Jove ! 

Daniel. Yes, I simply daren't go to sleep without an alarm 
clock. 

Mrs. Dermott. Danny darling, it's all too dreadful — I can't 
believe it. 

Bobbie (rising). But, uncle, I thought sleeping sickness polished 
you off in one night. 

Daniel (embarrassed). So it does, but that one night won't 
happen to me for three years. The doctor says so. He knows. 
You see I've got it internally or something. 

Mrs. Dermott (firmly). You must never go back there — you 
shall stay with us until — until — the end 

(She breaks down, sobs on Daniel's shoulder.) 

Sylvia (goes behind Chesterfield). Oh, mother darling, don't cry. 
(She looks at Daniel rather angrily.) 

Daniel (rising). I'm sorry I have upset you, Anne. But I have 
told you this to-day with a purpose in my mind. (Moving to C.) 

Oliver. A purpose ? 

Daniel (l. of arm-chair). Yes, I have a few words to say to you 



"I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU" 19 

all — words which, though they may sound a little mercenary, are 
in reality prompted by very deep feeling. 

Mrs. Dermott. Poor Danny. 

Daniel. Ssh ! {weaves her to silence). It may seem to all 
of you " banal " in the extreme to talk of money on an occasion 
such as this, but believe me, it's best to get it over. I came over to 
England this time, as I have said, with a purpose — one might almost 
say a double purpose. Firstly, to comfort my sister, your dear 
mother, in her hour of — er — tribulation. {He pauses.) If you 
would just say " yes " or " quite so " whenever I pause, it would 
help me enormously. 

Sylvia. All right, we will. 

Daniel. Thank you, you are a good girl. Where was I ? 

Bobbie. Tribulation. 

Evangeline. Hour of tribulation {in Ms tone.) 

Daniel. hour of tribulation. (He pauses.) 

Sylvia \ Yes. 

Bobbie, j Quite so. 

Daniel. I thank you. And secondly, to feast my eyes, perhaps 
for the last time on earth, upon you children— also to talk to you 
seriously, for after all, you're my only relatives in the world. 

Sylvia. \ Yes, yes. 

Bobbie. ) Quite so. 

Daniel. I am as you may have guessed, a wealthy man 

Everyone (eagerly). Yes, yes ! (Movement from all.) 

Daniel. And out there (he nods his head descriptively) we 
don't get much chance of spending our money 

Bobbie. ) Quite so. 

Oliver, j No, no ! 

Daniel. And now I come to the point. At the end of three years 
I shall be no more. 

Evangeline. Quite so ! 

Others. Sh ! ! 

(Mrs. Dermott sniffs.) 

Daniel. Bear up, Anne ; we must all die sometime. 

Mrs. Dermott. Yes, but not of sleeping sickness. It's so 
horrible. Anything else — but not sleeping sickness. 

Daniel. I believe it is very comfortable, but that is neither 
here nor there. What I was going to say was this, I am a firm 
believer in the old-fashioned laws of entail. I have no patience 
with this modern way of dividing up legacies between large numbers 
of people 

Sylvia (with interest). Yes, yes ? 

Bobbie (with equal interest). Quite so ! 

Daniel. When I pass into the great beyond (Mrs. Dermott 
sniffs. He is obviously rather j^leased with that remarh, so he repeats 



20 "I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 

it) — pass into the great beyond, I intend to leave the whole bulk of 
my fortune to the one of you who has made good 

Oliver. How do you mean " Made good " ? 

Daniel. I mean make good your position in the world, justify 
your existence, carve for yourself a niche in the Temple of fame — ■ — 
{Turning r.) 

Bobbie {very quickly and brightly). Yes, yes ? 

Daniel {turns, sharply). That was entirely unnecessary, I didn't 
pause. 

Bobbie. Sorry. 

{They are all self-conscious as he addresses them.) 

Daniel. What is -the use of idling through life, frittering away 
your youth, I repeat, frittering away your youth, when you might be 
working to achieve some great and noble end ? (Oliver emharrassed.) 
You Oliver, you might in time be a great inventor, and know all 
about the insides of the most complicated machines. You, Evan- 
geline, (Evangeline rises, poses by fire2)lace, one hand on mantel. 
Joyce laughs — she pidls her hair,) might develop into a great 
poetess ; your mother tells me that you already write verses about 
the moonlight. They all start like that, only unfortunately some 
of them stay like it. {SJie sits again.) You, Bobbie, you are 
artistic too, you might without undue strain become a world-famed 
composer, artist, actor. (Bobbie rises, moves doivn l. , posing as actor.) 
Sylvia, for you I foresee a marvellous career as a decorative designer. 
You already arrange flowers and jumble sales — and last, but not by 
any means least, little Joyce (Joyce hangs her head, jwlishes her nails) 
now on the very threshold of life. What are you going to do with 
yourself ? Sit at home and wait for a nice husband with mediocre 
prospects and perhaps an over-developed Adam's apple ? Never, 
never ! You too must rise and go forth — the world is calling to 
you. Do what you will. I can't think of a career for you at the 
moment, but no matter. I only want to imj)ress upon you all the 
necessity of making good at something — make good, make good, 
make good ! And the one I consider has done best for himself 
and the family name, to him — or her — I will bequeath every penny 
I possess. {Goes up four stairs.) 

^ {rising and all talking at once). But look here 

Uncle dear, of course 



Oliver 

Evangeline. 

Bobbie. 

Sylvia 

Joyce 

All looking towards Daniel, the positions are now as follows : — 
Daniel, up four stairs. Mrs. Dermott extreme r. Sylvia up 
R.c. Oliver down r.c. Evangeline down c. Joyce up l.c. 
Bobbie down l.) 



How in Heaven's name are we to- 

Really I don't quite see 

It's going to be very difficult 



"I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 21 

Daniel {holding up his hand.) Please — couldn't you possibly 
speak one at a time ? Sylvia ? {Motions to her.) 

Sylvia {stepping forward). What we want to know, uncle, is 
how on earth are we to start ? 

{They all nod.) 

Daniel {smiling benignly, arms outstretched). I'll leave it to you ! 

All turn to audience open-mouthed as the Curtain descends. 



ACT II. 

The Scene is the same as Act I. Eighteen months have elapsed. All 
the windows are wide open. It is a glorious summer day. Altera- 
tions in the furniture are noted at the end of the pilay. At the table 
L. Evangeline is seated when the Curtain rises, typewriting slowly 
hut firmly. There are a lot of ])apers strewn about. On the piano 
there is a sort of a pastry board to tvhich is affixed a working model 
of a motor engine in miniature. Joyce is seated at table l.c. 
laboriously copying out a slieet of music on to some manuscript 
paper. 

Joyce [showing music). Is it a crotchet or a quaver that has a 
waggle on the end of it ? 

Evangeline. I haven't the remotest idea. 

Joyce. I do think Bobbie might write them a little more dis- 
tinctly, it's awfully difficult to copy. 

(Joyce hums.) 

Evangeline. I don't wish to appear surly or disagreeable to my 
younger sister, but if you don't stop squawking I shall hurl something 
at you. 

Joyce. Oh, all right, {She hums louder.) 

Evangeline {after a short pause). Joyce, you reaUy are madden- 
ing ; you know perfectly well that I have to revise and retype an 
entire short story which in itself is a nerve-racking job, and all you 
do is to burble and sing, and gabble. Can't you be quiet ? 

Joyce. Why don't you go and work in your own room ? 

Evangeline. Because it would be neither comfortable or proper 
with three inquisitive painters there, running up and down the 
kitchen steps. 

Joyce. Oh, I'd forgotten. 

(Joyce hums again.) 

Evangeline. But if you desire to continue your noises, may I 
suggest that you do your music in the summer house. There's a 
nice firm table there. 

Joyce. No thanks, I'm quite comfy here. 

Evangeline. Well, I'm sorry to hear it. 

{Enter Mrs. Dermott from hall. Goes to table and tidies papers.) 

22 



"I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 23 

Mrs. Dermott. Vangy dear, I do think you might have made 
the hall look a little tidier, We shall have Mrs. Crombie and Faith 
here soon. It really is tiresome of Bobbie to have made me ask 
them, specially as Uncle Daniel's coming too. They'll be terribly in 
the way and we shall have to make conversation instead of listening 
to Uncle Daniel's thrilling stories. {Goes to Chesterfield and tidies 
papers.) 

Evangeline. I can't think why you didn't wire and put them 
off yesterday. 

Mrs. Dermott. Because Bobbie would have been miserable 
and sulky. 

Evangeline. He's very inconsiderate. I don't think you ought 
to give in to him so much, mother ; it only makes him worse. What 
he can see in that tiresome little cat beats me. 

Joyce. She's awfully pretty. 

(Mrs. Dermott merely takes pajiers from one 'place to another, fre- 
quently dropping some, as she is " tidying up") 

Evangeline. And entirely brainless. 

Joyce. Well, we can be thankful that Mrs. Crombie isn't staying 
over the week-end. One day of her is bad enough. 

Mrs. Dermott {tidying papers on form). You mustn't talk 
like that, dear. After all they are our guests and Bobbie's friends, 
and we must be kind even if we don't like them very much. {Picking 
up waste paper basket from the front of table.) I'm only worry- 
ing because darling Daniel may be hurt at our having strangers in 
the house when he arrives. 

Joyce. Oh, Uncle Dan won't mind. He's probably used to 
face polar bears and things in his shack. 

Evangeline. Bit it seems hard luck to leave raging bears on 
one side of the Atlantic and meet Mrs. Crombie on the other. 

(Joyce goes into screams of laughter and then chokes.) 

Mrs. Dermott {anxiously). Darling — do be careful. {Droj)s 
papers and puts waste piaper basket through window l.c. Enter 
Bobbie downstairs. Mrs. Dermott cotitinues to tidy up room.) 

Bobbie. What's the matter ? 

Evangeline. Nothing much, only your crochets and quavers 
have sent our little ray of sunshine into a rapid decline. 

Bobbie. Have you done it ? 

Joyce {weakly). The top treble thing's a little wobbly, but I'll 
ink it over afterwards. 

(Mrs. Dermott is tidying window seat.) 

Bobbie {kissing her hurriedly and loudly). Thanks, you're a lamb. 
I'll try it now. 
Evangeline. Oh ! Bobbie, don't try it now ! 



24 "I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 

Bobbie. I shall. {He goes to piano, then turns furiouslij .) Well, 
really it is the limit. Why can't Oliver keep his rotten engine in the 
shed. It will scratch all the polish. {He takes the model off jnano 
and bangs it on to the floor.) 

Mrs. Dermott. Oh, Bobbie, don't break that thing. Oliver's 
so proud of it. I can't think why. 

Bobbie. Well, I wish he'd go and be proud of it somewhere 
else. Look here, three distinct scratches. 

Mrs. Dermott. Never mind dear. Griggs will get them out 
with sandpaper or something. 

(Bobbie commences to play over the manuscript Joyce has just 
coj)ied. Occasionally he stops and alters something with a pencil. 
No one takes any notice. The dialogue goes on just the same.) 

{Coming down to Evangeline.) If you've nearly finished, Vangy 
dear, do put the typewriter away. It looks so untidy. 

Evangeline {rather crossly, rising). Of course I quite see that 
until my room's done, I shall never be able to do any work at all. 
{Puts cover on typewriter, then pushes table up to back l.) 

Mrs. Dermott. Don't be cross, darling. You know how worried 
I am over everything this morning. It's one long rush. 

Evangeline {kissing her). Sorry dear. I quite understand, 
only I must have this story sent to the Clarion by Tuesday. If not, 
it won't be out until the August number. 

Mrs. Dermott. You're a dear darling, and you work terribly 
hard. I only hope you won't overdo it. 

Evangeline. Oh no, these stories are only pot boilers. They 
just fill in the time until my next novel is ready. 

Bobbie {suddenly.) Listen, don't you think this is a ripping 
change ? {He plays a few chords. He then sits back complacently.) 

Mrs. Dermott. Perfectly lovely, darling. 

Evangeline. It sounds very much like everj^hing else to me. 

Bobbie. Only because you haven't got any ear. As a matter of 
fact they're quite good chords. I shall put them into the new tomb- 
stone cycle. 

Evangeline. Don't alter many of my words, will you ? 

Bobbie. Not many, but the bit about " worms gnawing the grave 
of my beloved " is a little too gloomy. Couldn't you make it 
butterflies. 

(Joyce giggles.) 

Evangeline. Don't be silly, Bobbie ! butterflies don't live in 
graves. Well, you can use the first two verses as they are. 
Bobbie. I will. 

{He starts to play again, Mrs. Dermott is just going towards the 
stairs when there comes a ring and knock at the front door.) 



"I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 25 

Joyce {rising). My goodness, the Crombies — I must go and wash. 
I'm covered in ink. {Going to stairs.) 

Evangeline {down l. of table). I shouldn't worry, dear, they'll 
be so overdressed themselves they will amply make up for any 
deficiencies in our appearances. 

Joyce. I think I'd better go all the same. I must do my hair. 

Bobbie. Don't dazzle them too much, dear. 

{Exit Joyce upstairs. Griggs crosses in corridor to ojoen front door.) 

Evangeline {going to corridor). I'll be in presently, mother. 
I've left my note-book in the summer house, and I'm afraid of for- 
getting it. 

Bobbie {still at piano). You'll meet them on the doorstep. 

Evangeline. No, I shan't. I'm going through the drawing 
room window. 

{Exit Evangeline, r.) 

Mrs. Dermott (c). Really it's most inconsiderate of her to 

leave me alone like this. Bobbie darling (Bobbie crosses to 

her, kisses her.) 

{Re-enter Griggs.) 

Griggs. Mrs. Crombie, Miss Faith Crombie. 

{Enter Mrs. Crombie, and Faith. Mrs. Crombie is a ivell-pre- 
served, rather flashy woman. Faith is a very pretty girl, perhaps 
a shade too self-assured. She is all right when by herself, but when 
comjMred with the Dermott girls, there is obviously a little something 
lacking.) 

Mrs. Dermott {going to her, drops quantity of papers). I'm so 
glad you were able to come, dear Mrs. Crombie. How are you. 
Faith dear ? (Faith giggles, goes down to Chesterfield.) I do hope 
you weren't too shaken up in the Ford, but Sylvia has taken the car 
up to Town to meet my brother. 

(Bobbie kicks papers up stage, then moves to bottom of table.) 

Mrs. Crombie {up r.c). Not at all, we didn't expect to be met 
at all. It's such a little way. Well, Bobbie, have you been writing 
any more successes ? 

Bobbie {laughing). I think I've done one or two bad enough to 
be good. 

Faith. Oh, mother, isn't he cynical 1 

Mrs. Dermott (c). He always talks like that. Fancy, he says 
his Rose song is bad. Fancy that wonderful Rose song. I'm always 
humming it. {Hums few notes of " The Rosary," Bobbie attemptting 
to stop her.) Well, I forget it now, but I love it. 

Faith {down r.). I love it too. 



26 "I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 

Bobbie (down l.). Do you really ? 

Faith. Of course. {Moves to piano.) 

Mrs. Dermott. Now then, shall we all go out into the garden ? 
Oliver and Vangy are somewhere about. We always sit under the 
big cedar in the afternoons. It's so beautifully shady. 

Mrs. Crombie {walking towards door with Mrs. Dermott). I envy 
you your garden so much, Mrs. Dermott. I have about two rose 
bushes and a tennis net. Faith insists on that. 

Mrs. Dermott. You're lucky even to have a small garden in 
London. 

Mrs. CnouBiE {as they go off). Yes, I suppose we are, you see . . . 

{Exeunt to garden.) 

Faith. Come on, Bobbie. {Coming c.) 

Bobbie. No, stay here and talk to me. {Goes to her and takes 
her hand.) 

Faith. Mother will only come back and fetch me. 

Bobbie. No, she won't. They're both jawing quite happily. I 
have been so looking forward to to-day. 

Faith. So have I. 

Bobbie. I was terrified that you'd wire or something to say you 
couldn't come. 

Faith. Silly Bobbie. 

Bobbie. Do you realize it's a whole week since I've seen you. 
{Drop2nng her hand.) I've got something for you. 

Faith {eagerly). What is it ? 

Bobbie. A song. 

Faith {witho^it enthusiasm). Oh. 

Bobbie. Shall I play it ? 

Faith {moves to r. of table.) Yes, do. 

{Enter Joyce downstairs.) 

Bobbie. Damn. 

Joyce. Hullo, Faith, how are you ? {They hiss. ) Come and play 
a single with me. 

Bobbie {at piano). Oh, do go away, Joyce. I'm just going to 
play her a song — her song. 

Faith. My song ? {Sits r. of table.) 

Bobbie. I wrote it specially for her. 

Joyce. Aren't you lucky ? Well, come out presently when you 
feel you're rhapsodized enough. {Crosses to corridor.) 

Bobbie. Oh, do shut up, Joy, and go away. 

(Bobbie starts to pH^^V-) 

Joyce. All right, keep calm. {Exits and re-enter.) Have you 
seen my racquet ? 
Bobbie. No. 



"I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 27 

Joyce. Oh, thanks, dear, for your kind help. Sorry I came in 
at the wrong moment. 

{Exit Joyce brightly.) 

Bobbie. Young sisters are a nuisance sometimes. 
Faith {giggling). They must be. 
Bobbie. Listen . . . 

(Faith reads magazine and takes no notice of song. He 'plays and 
sings a short love song.) 

Bobbie. There ! Do you like it. 

Faith {putting magazine down — ecstatically). Oh, Bobbie, that's 
simply too sweet for words. It has a something about it — did you 
really write it for me ? 

Bobbie {ardently). Every note. 

(Bobbie plays a well-known and hackneyed song.) 

Faith. Bobbie ! that's wonderful ! Wonderful ! ! It's the 
best you've ever done. Now I know you are clever. 

Bobbie {coming c). Yes ! but I didn't write that one. 

Faith {goes to him). Oh ! didn't you. Well, I know you would 
if you had thought of it — but never mind 

Faith. Can you play the Indian Love Lyrics — I never get tired 
of them ? 

Bobbie. I don't want to play any more, I want to talk to you. 

Faith. What shall we talk about ? 

Bobbie. I could tell you such wonderful things — ^but I don't 
know whether you would understand. 

Faith {pouting girlishly). That's not very polite. {Coming down 
between armchair and Chesterfield.) 

Bobbie. I mean that you wouldn't understand unless you felt 
like I do. Oh, I don't know how to put it^ — but do you ? 

Faith {coyly). Do I what ? {Sits l. of Chesterfield.) 

Bobbie {hy armchair — desp)erately). Feel as if you could ever 
care — even a little bit— for me ? 

Faith. I haven't tried yet. 

Bobbie. Well, will you try ? 

Faith. I must ask mother. 

Bobbie {iyi anguish — moving slightly c). Ask mother ! But 
that's no use. Why, my mother could never make me care for some- 
one I didn't want to, or not care for some one I did. Don't you see 
what I mean. If you are ever going to care for me you will have to 
do it on your o-svn. Love isn't a thing to be ordered about at will. 
Love is wonderful — glorious, but above all, it's individual — you can't 
guide it. Why, you might fall in love with a taxi driver or a dope 
fiend 

Faith. Mother would never allow me to know a dope fiend. 



28 "I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 

Bobbie (l. of Chesterfield— firmly). But if you did, your mother's 
opinion wouldn't have any effect at all — not if you had it in your 
heart — really and truly. 

Faith, Mother's disapproval might stop me falling in love. 

Bobbie. No, it mightn't — nothing could stop it. On the con- 
trary it would probably strengthen it ; opposition always does. 

Faith {douht fully). Do you think so. 

Bobbie. I'm sure of it, but anyhow, I'm going to tell you some- 
thing. 

(Mrs. Dermott appears at window l.c. with telegram.) 

Mrs. Dermott. Bobbie, darling 

Bobbie {irritably). What is it, mother ? (Goes up to window.) 

(Faith powders her nose, etc.) 

Mrs. Dermott. I've just received the oddest telegram. We met 
the boy in the drive. Do listen, I can't understand it. {She reads.) 
" Come to lunch Monday and discuss Royalties — Claverton." What 
does it all mean ? 

Bobbie. It's not for you, it's for Vangy. Claverton's her 
publisher. 

Mrs. Dermott. What on earth do they want to discuss Royalties 
for. It sounds so snobbish. 

Bobbie {laughing). Mother, at times you're inimitable. Royal- 
ties means money, so much per cent., you know. We've explained 
it heaps of times. 

Mrs. Dermott. Of course, dear, how stupid of me ; but still it 
is very muddling, when they call things by fancy names like that. 
Put it on the mantel]Diece and give it to Vangy when she comes in. 

{She disappears.) 

Bobbie. Mother never will grasp the smallest technicality. 

{Coming doivn to fireplace, he puts he telegram on the mantelpiece.) 

Faith. You were going to tell me som^ething. 

Bobbie. Yes, I know something that will banish your mother's 
disapproval altogether. . . . 

Faith. She hasn't disapproved yet. I only said she might. 

Bobbie. Well, she's pretty certain to want you to make a good 
match. I know what mothers are, they all do. I'm not a good 
match I know, but what she doesn't know is that I have wonderful 
prospects. 

Faith {with interest). Have you ? 

Bobbie. I should never have proposed to you, otherwise. 

Faith. Well, you haven't proposed properly. 

Bobbie. I mean to when I've told you everything. Will you 
listen ? {Moves to r. of Chesterfield.) 



"I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 29 

Faith. Of course. 

Bobbie. Well, have you ever met my Uncle Daniel ? {Sits by 
her on Chesterfield.) 

Faith. No. 

Bobbie. You will to-day, he's a wonderful chap. Eighteen 
months ago his doctor told him that he only had three years to live. 
(Faith giggles.) And the day he came over from South America he 
gave us all a jolly good talking to — quite right too. 

Faith. Why ? 

Bobbie. You see father had left mother badly ofi, and we were 
all drooping round doing nothing. 

Faith. Of course ! 

Bobbie. Then Uncle Dan turned up and said he'd leave his whole 
fortune to the one of us who made good in some way or other. 
Of course that bucked us up no end, and look at us now — Vangy's 
raking in the dibs with her novel, Sylvia's on a fair v/ay to be a big 
film star, Oliver has just been made assistant manager at the motor 
works, which is a good leg-up considering that he started as an 
ordinary mechanic. I'm doing jolly well out of my songs — specially 
" The Eose of Passion Sweet." Why they buy the beastly thing I 
don't know. It's the worst of the lot. 

Faith. Oh! Bobbie! 

Bobbie. Even Joyce has walked off with all the prizes at school 
and intends to be a great artist. You see we've all risen to the bait. 
Eighteen months ago it seemed providential that Uncle should 
only have such a short time to live, now I rather hate it, in spite of 
the money. He's a dear, though of course we didn't see much of him. 
He went back to South America soon after he'd seen us, but still he 
left an impression. Here we are, all working like slaves, and helping 
mother to keep on the house. It would have broken her heart to 
have given it up. There are my prospects — a huge fortune, quite 
soon. 

Faith. Yes, but, Bobbie, one of the others might get it. 

Bobbie {after looking round). Ah, but there is just one more thing 
to tell you. Two days before he sailed Uncle Dan took me aside and 
told me — in the very strictest confidence of course — that I was the 
one out of us all that he had his eye on ; he said he'd practically made 
out his will in my favour already. . . . 

Faith {ecstatically). Bobbie ! 

Bobbie. Yes, but promise you won't breathe a word to the others ; 
of course you understand he couldn't show favouritism openly. 

Faith. No — I see. 

Bobbie. Now that I have told you everything, Faith darling, 
will you — will you marry me ? 

Faith. Yes, Bobbie — 

Bobbie. Oh ! {He kisses her.) 

Faith — if mother says I may. 



30 "I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 

Bobbie. Oh ! {mastering slight irritation). But don't you think 
she will, now ? 

Faith. Yes, I think so. 

Bobbie (sadly). I don't believe you love me a bit. 
Faith {filled tvith reproach). Oh, Bobbie, how can you. 
Bobbie. Well, do you ? 

(Mrs. Crombie sees them through ivindow l.c.) 

Faith Of course, silly ! {She kisses him.) 

Bobbie {joyfully — taking her hands). Oh, Faith we'll have the most 
wonderful times in the world— just you and me together ; say 
you're happy, say you're excited about it. 

Faith. I'm absolutely thrilled — I'm (Bobbie sees Mrs. 

Crombie. Picks up papers on floor to hide his confusion.) 

{Enter Mrs. Crombie They get up.) 

Mrs. Crombie {going l.c). You ought to be ashamed of your- 
selves, sitting indoors on a lovely day like this. (Faith giggles.) 
Heaven knows we get little enough good air in town, without wasting 
it when we get into the country. 

Faith. Mother, something important has happened. {By 
front of couch.) 

Bobbie {sincere). Look here. Faith, you must let me tell her — 
it's my job, I won't shirk it. 

Faith. Don't be silly, Bobbie, go into the garden, there's a dar- 
ling — I'll come out in a minute or two. 

Bobbie. But— but 

Faith. Do be sensible. 

Bobbie. Oh, all right. . . . {Goes up between Chesterfield and 
fireplace, and exits into garden.) 

Mrs. Crombie. You are a little fool, Faith. Fancy flirting with 
•(;hat — the elder one has much more in him. 

Faith. But I don't like Oliver so much, his chin's so scrubby. 

Mrs. Crombie. Oliver is a steady man with an assured career in 
front of him — this one 

Faith. Mother, we're engaged ! 

Mrs. Crombie. Of course you are. That has been perfectly 
obvious from the moment I passed the window. Now of course we 
have all the trouble of getting you disengaged again. Really you are 
very tiresome. {Below table.) 

Faith. Mother, how can you be so horrid, you will not under- 
stand ? Bobbie has ever so much better prospects than Oliver. 

Mrs. Crombie. Who said so ? Bobbie 1 

Faith. Yes, but it's true ; his Uncle is going to leave him a huge 
fortune in a year's time. 

Mrs. Crombie. Which Uncle ? {Takes out cigarette from case.) 



"I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 31 

Faith. He's only got one — Daniel Davis. He landed in England 
yesterday, and is coming down here to-day. Eighteen months ago 
the doctor said he only had three years to live 

Mrs. Crombie. I've been caught like that before. {Crosses to 
inantelpiece for matches.) 

Faith. Why, how do you mean ? 

Mrs. Crombie. Experience has taught me one thing, and that is 
that in this world people never die when they're expected to. {Sits 
on Chesterfield.) The old man will probably live to a ripe old age, 
then where would you be ? 

Faith. Well, anyhow Bobbie makes quite a lot out of his songs. 
{Sits in armchair.) 

Mrs. Crombie. Don't be childish, Faith. You know perfectly 
well I should never allow you to marry a man without a settled 
income — prospects never kept anyone. Besides, if any of them get 
the uncle's money it will be Oliver — he's the eldest. {Lights 
cigarette.) 

Faith {in chair l.c.) That's where you are wrong, mother. Just 
before he sailed back to America, he took Bobbie aside and told him 
in confidence that he was the one he meant to leave everything to. 
Of course the others mustn't know because it would be favouritism 
— don't you see ? 

Mrs. Crombie. How much is he going to leave ? 

Faith. I don't know, but it's sure to be a lot. 
. Mrs. Crombie. Why ? 

Faith. Well, he's a bachelor and — and he's been mining in South 
America. 

Mrs. Crombie. There are hundreds of bachelors in South America 
who are absolutely penniless — whether they mine or not. 

Faith. You are horrid, mother. {Sniffs.) I did feel so happy, 
and I wanted you to be happy too. 

Mrs. Crombie {with slight sarcasm). It was sweet of you, dear. 
I really can't work myself up to a high pitch of enthusiasm over an 
uncle who though apparently in the last throes of a virulent disease is 
well able to gallop backwards and forwards across the Atlantic 
gaily arranging to leave an extremely problematic fortune to an 
extremely scatter-brained young man. 

Faith. Bobbie isn't scaiier-brained. 

Mrs. Crombie. The whole family is scatter-brained, and I expect 
the uncle's the worst of the lot — he wouldn't have been sent to 
South America otherwise. 

Faith. He wasn't sent, he went. 

Mrs. Crombie. How do you know ? He probably did some- 
thing disgraceful in his youth and had to leave the country. Just 
like my brother, your Uncle Percy. I'm certain there's a skeleton 
of some kind in this family — anyhow he's sure not to die when we 
want him to. 



32 "I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 

Faith. The doctor said three years. 

Mrs. Crombie. Only to frighten him, that's what doctors are 
for. I believe they cured hundreds of cases in the army like that. 

Faith. Did they, mother. 

Mrs. Crombie. What's the matter with the man ? 

Faith. I don't know. 

Mrs. Crombie. It strikes me, dear, that you had better find out 
a bit more before you get engaged another time. 

Faith {tearfully). But I don't want to be engaged another time. 
I want to be engaged this time. Oh, mother darling, won't you 
wait a little while ? Just see the imcle. If you got him alone for a 
while you could find out anything — you're always so clever at that 
sort of thing. Oh, mother, do. 

Mrs. Crombie. I'll interview the man on one condition. That is 
that whatever decision I may make you promise to abide by it 
afterwards. 

Faith {rises). Yes, mother, I promise. {Kisses her, remains 
below fireplace.) 

Mrs. Crombie. Now I suppose we had better join the rest, they're 
being feverishly bright on the tennis lawn. 

{Enter Mrs. D^umoit followed by Evangeline. Mrs. Dermott 
motions to Evangeline to inch up papers, ivJio does so, pilacing 
them on table.) 

Mrs. Dermott. Ah, there you are, Mrs. Crombie ; you were bored 
with watching tennis too. Of course Oliver and Joyce's efforts 
cannot really be called tennis, but still it's an amusement for them. 
{Sits in armchair.) Have you seen my knitting anywhere, Vangy 
darling ? I'm certain I left it here. 

(Faith sits on form r.) 

Evangeline. You had it in the drawing-room before lunch. 
I'll go and look. 

{Exit Evangeline r.) 

Mrs. Dermott. Thank you so much, dear. You know, Mrs. 
Crombie, I imagined that all authors became terribly superior after 
a little time, but Vangy hasn't a bit — it is such a relief to me. 

Mrs. Crombie. I haven't read her book yet ; I must really order 
it from Boots. 

Mrs. Dermott. Oh, you belong to Boots too, I did for years — 
there's something so fascinating in having those little ivory marker 
things with one's name on them, but, of course, I had to give it up 
when the crash came. 

{Re-enter Evangeline with knitting.) 

Evangeline. Here you are, mother. {Crosses to below table.) 



"I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 33 

Mrs. Dermott. Thank you so mucli, darling. Do you know, 
Mrs. Crombie, I started this at the beginning of the War and I 
haven't finished it yet ? I do hope you are not being terribly dull 
here, Mrs. Crombie. {Drops ball of wool.) I'm afraid we're awfully 
bad at entertaining. 

Mrs. Crombie. Not at all. You are one of those excellent 
hostesses who allow their guests to do as they like, it's so much more 
comfortable. 

Faith {rising). I think I'll go and talk to Bobbie in the garden. 

{Goes between Chesterfield and armchair.) 

Mrs. Dermott. Do dear, I'm sure he'd love it. {Kisses her. 
Faith giggles.) 

{Exit Faith.) 

{During Jollowing scene Mrs. Dermott gets into complications tvith 
knitting. Evangeline settles herself l. with illustrated paper.) 

Mrs. Dermott. Your daughter is a dear girl, Mrs. Crombie — 
we are all so fond of her. 

Mrs. Crombie. It's charming of you — she simply loves being 
down here. Of course it is so good for her to get away from London 
for a little while. 

Mrs. Dermott. I only wish we could have put you up as well, 
but really with all the children at home, there's no room at all. I 
was only saying to Tibbets — my solicitor, you know — that the one 
thing 

Mrs. Crombie. I understand perfectly. Anyhow, I can never 
leave my husband for long — men are so selfish, aren't they ? 

Mrs. Dermott. Sometimes I'm afraid, but still they're rather 
darlings when you know how to manage them. Vangy, dear, did I 
tell you how many stitches I set on this sleeve ? 

Evangeline. We have many confidences, mother, but that is 
not one of them. 

Mrs. Dermott. Dear me, how tiresome. I'm certain I told 
someone. 

{SJie gets up and rings bell above fireplace, and sits down again.) 

Mrs. Crombie. I was saying. Miss Dermott, that I must make an 
effort to get your book from the library. 

Evangeline. Oh, there are one or two copies in the house — I'll 
lend you one. 

Mrs. Crombie. It's very kind of you. 

Mrs. Dermott. I'm sure you'll like it, I did, though Vangy tells 
me I didn't understand half of it. Naturally being my daughter's 
work it thrilled me, though where she got all her ideas from I can't 
think — I've always been most careful with the children's upbring- 
ing 



34 "I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 

•(■ 

{Enter Griggs, r. and moves to above Chesterfield. He coughs.) 

What is it, Griggs ? 

Griggs. You rang, madam. 

Mrs. Dermott. Did I ? Now what on earth could it have 
been ? Was it a flustered ring, Griggs, or just an ordinary calm 
one ? 

Griggs. Quite calm, madam. 

Mrs. Dermott {in anguish). Oh, Vangy dear, what did I ring 
for? 

Evangeline. You said something about your knitting just 
before. 

Mrs. Dermott. Oh, of course, yes. Griggs, do you know how 
many stitches I cast on for this sleeve ? 

Griggs. Forty-seven, madam. 

Mrs. Dermott. Oh, thank you so much — you're quite sure ? 

Griggs. Quite, madam, but if I might suggest it, next time an 
even number would be easier to remember. 

Mrs. Dermott. Yes, Griggs — remind me, won't you ? You're 
a great help. 

Griggs. Yes, madam. 

Mrs. Dermott. Thank you, Griggs. 

{Exit Griggs, r.) 

Really, I don't know what I should do without that man. I believe 
he's Scotch, but he's quite invaluable. 

Mrs. Crombie. So it seems. 

Evangeline. Will Sylvia and Uncle Daniel be here in time for 
dinner, mother 1 

Mrs. Dermott. Yes, his train arrived at Euston at eleven- 
thirty. They ought to be here quite soon now, unless, of course, 
anything has happened to the car — but still, Sylvia drives very 
carefully. They taught her to do lots of things like that on the 
films, you know — they're awfully daring — I shall never forget 
when they made her jump ofi Westminster Bridge on a horse — my 
sister Amy was scandalized, and I said 

Mrs. Crombie. I can quite imagine it. It was very plucky of 
your daughter to do it, though I'm glad Faith isn't on the films — 
I should be worried to death. 

Mrs. Dermott. Of course I felt like that at first — but one gets 
hardened to anjrthing — even my poor brother's approaching death 
seems less terrible now — at the time when he told us it was a fearful 
shock, but somehow 

Mrs. Crombie. It must be terribly sad for you. Faith told me 
about it this morning. What is he suffering from ? 

Mrs. Dermott. Well, to tell you the truth, we don't quite know, 
he will joke about it so — at first he said it was " Sleeping Sickness " 



"I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 35 

and then " Creeping quickness " or pneu-somnia or something or 
other — one comfort, he doesn't seem to mind a bit. 

Mrs. Crombie. Perhaps the doctor diagnosed the case all 
wrong. 

Mrs. Dermott. Oh yes, they are careless — aren't they ? Did 
you say " diagnosed," there now, that's the word you were trying 
to think of the other day for your short story, Vangy. I knew it 
was dia something. 

{Enter Oliver and Joyce from garden— followed by Faith and 

Bobbie.) 

Joyce. I won a sett. (Goes to chair l. of table past.) 
Oliver. Only because I had the sun in my eyes. 

(Oliver puts racquet on piano.) 

Joyce. Well, I offered to change over, but you wouldn't. 

Mrs. Dermott. What time will Sylvia and your uncle arrive ? 

Oliver [sitting on top of table). They ought to be here any 
moment now, unless Sylvia's bashed up the bus. 

Bobbie [above Chesterfield to Mrs. Crombie, admiringly). Isn't 
he technical, the way he uses all the right expressions — it gives one 
such a professional air to call cars " buses." 

Mrs. Dermott. It's very muddling. 

[A motor horn is heard.) 

Joyce [rushing to window). Here they are. 

Bobbie. I wonder how Uncle Daniel is. 

Mrs. Crombie [rising). You must all be wondering that. [Goes 
to 'table powdering.) Faith, I shall go soon. I'm sure this man 
is going to be simply odious. 

[All except Mrs. Crombie and Faith go out to meet Daniel. All 
enter together talking about their various professions. Bobbie to 
fireplace ; Oliver behind table ; Sylvia up stage ; Joyce to form ; 
Evangeline above fireplace ; Mrs. Crombie below table ; Mrs. 
Dermott c. ; Daniel l.c. ; Faith r. of table.) 

Mrs. Dermott. Oh, Danny, darling — let me introduce you to 
Mrs. Crombie — my brother. And this is Faith — such a dear girl. 

Mrs. Crombie. How do you do. I've heard so much about you. 
Are you feeling better ? 

Daniel (l.c, jovially). Better ! Wliy, I never had a day's 
illness in my life — [look from all) — at least — that is until I had the 
illness. Yes, it's very tiresome. [He guljjs.) A short life and a 
gay one, you know. [He laughs forcedly.) 

Mrs. Dermott. Danny, darling, I do hope — — 

Daniel. Nonsense, dear — there is no hope^ — -but that's a comfort 



36 "I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 

to me. I always imagine hope weary after a game of blind man's 
buff sitting on an orange — so uncomfortable. 

(Mrs. Crombie a7id Faith sit below and r. of table respectively.) 

Mrs. Dermott {sits Chesterfield, dabbing her eyes). Really, Danny, 
you are too absurd. . . . I'm so glad Sylvia brought you safely, 
I never really feel liappy in my mind when she's out with the car. 
It's not really woman's work. 

Daniel {sitting arm-chair). As far as I can gather from what 
she has been telling me — filming seems to require a certain amount 
of unwomanly abandon ! 

Sylvia {at back of Chesterfield, laughing). I was only telling him 
about that day in the middle of the village street, when I had to do 
three " close ups " on top of one another. 

Mrs. Dermott. It all sounds vaguely immoral to me, but I 
hope it's all right. 

Daniel. Define the expression" close up." What does it mean ? 

Sylvia. When they bring the camera right up to your face 
and you have to register various emotions— fear — suspicion— joy — 
yearning — sorrow — {she does them) that's a close up. 

Mrs. Dermott. Isn't she wonderful ? 

Mrs. Crombie. It really is most entertaining. 

Daniel. I think they ought to film Evangeline's novel — it's 
chock full of incident. 

Evangeline {rishig, poses by mantel). Yes, uncle, but only 
psychological incident — ^they want luridly exciting episodes for a 
real thriller. I mean to write a scenario one day though, it's a 
money- making game. {Sits again.) 

Mrs. Dermott. Do dear — but please don't make the heroine 
jump out of attic windows or anything — it is so trying for Sylvia — 
I shall never forget Westminster Bridge and that horse. 

Daniel. It appears to be a most dashing profession. 

Mrs. Dermott {ivith pride). Oh, it is. Sylvia does the most 
thrilling things I assure you. She had to rescue the Rajah from a 
burning house in Piccadilly only last Wednesday. It caused a 
great sensation. 

Daniel. So I should imagine, but why was the Rajah burning 
in Piccadilly ? 

Mrs. Dermott. Oh, it wasn't a real Rajah of course — but he 
was supposed to be in the clutch of Bolshevists — or was that another 
film, Sylvia ? — I get so muddled 

Sylvia. It was another film, mother, but it doesn't matter. 
How's your illness. Uncle Dan ? You look pretty bright. 

Daniel. Oh, I expect to be quite cheery right up to the last. 

Mrs. Dermott. Oh, Danny dear, don't talk about it. 

Daniel {with meaning). I always think we attach too much 
importance to life and death. 



"I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 37 

Mrs. Crombie {acidly). It depends on circumstances, of course. 

Daniel {dramatically). Out there where I come from 

Joyce. Go on, uncle, do tell us. 

Daniel. I was just going to, only you interrupted me — out 
there on the limitless prairie, a man's life is not considered worth 
that much. {He tries to snap his fingers loithoul any success.) There 
now, I can never do that properly — that much. {He tries again.) 
Damn ! 

Bobbie. I can do it, uncle. {He does it.) 

Joyce. So can I. {She tries.) Oh, no I can't— Sylvia,'you can. 
You had to when you were playing in " Spanish Passion." 

Sylvia. Never mind now, let imcle get on with his story. 

Daniel. Out there Death waits round every corner 

Bobbie. I didn't know there were any corners on the limitless 
prairie. 

Daniel {testily). I was millions of miles away from any prairie — 
and, anyhow, I was only speaking metaphorically. 

Sylvia. You are irritating, Bobbie, why can't you keep quiet. 

Mrs. Crombie. There seems to be some doubt, Mr. Davis, as to 
what part of America you were in. 

Daniel. South America — firmly South America — in the little 
tiny wee, bijou village of Santa Lyta — far away from the beaten 
track, this lonely place lies basking in the sun. Heavens, how it 
basked ! it's natives care-free and irresponsible, dreaming idly 
through the long summer heat 

Oliver. What did you do there, uncle ? 

Daniel. Eh ? 

Oliver. What did you do there, uncle ? 

Daniel {coming to earth). Oh, er — lots of things — fishing — 
yachting. 

Bobbie. But I thought it was inland. 

Daniel. Eh ? 

Bobbie. I thought it was inland. 

Daniel. So it is, but there's a lake, there's a lake ! We used to 
sit round the camp fire in the evenings and cook the fish — yes, 
salmon and cucumber, and sing songs — sweet little homely ditties — 
your Rose song in particular, Bobbie, was a great success, I must say 
that 

Bobbie. Don't perjure yourself, uncle, I know perfectly well 
that it's the worst thing that has ever been written. 

Sylvia. It's your most successful. 

Bobbie. Of course — -I've made literally hundreds out of it — 
the public v/allow in it — roses and passion, and wine, and eyes of 
blue — it makes me absolutely sick every time I hear it, but still 
one must write down in this world if one wants to get up. 

Mrs. Dermott. Speaking of roses, let's go out into the garden 
and talk— it's so stuffy in here — you can tell me some more of your 
adventures, Danny. 



38 "I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU" 

Sylvia {Looking at him). I'm sure he'd love to. 
{Every one gets up and drifts out on to the lawn talking. Bobbie 
hangs behind for a moment with Faith.) 

Bobbie (anxiously). What did she say ? [Catching her hand 
as she is going out.) 

Faith. She said she'll see — wait until to-night. . . . 

Bobbie. Oh, Faith darling. . , . 

Faith. Come out now, quick, or they'll miss us. 

Bobbie {grumbling). It doesn't matter if they do. 

Faith. Oh, yes, it does — I don't want to be talked about. 

{They go out and bang into Daniel, who is coming in.) 

Bobbie. Hallo, aren't you going to tell us things ? 

Daniel {comes c). No, not now — I must unpack — I'm feeling 
rather tired — I have to change — I must send a wire. . . . The truth 
of the matter is, I just want a little peace. 

Bobbie. All right, we'll leave you to it. 

{Exit Bobbie and Faith. Daniel comes slowly down stage — lights 
a cigar and settles himself in Chesterfield.) 

{Re-enter Sylvia, quickly touches Daniel on face — lie jumps.) 

Sylvia. Uncle dear, why did you slip away ? 

Daniel. I explained to your brother — because I felt a little 
tired and wanted a rest. 

Sylvia. You're not too tired to talk to me though, are you ? 
{Quite quietly.) 

Daniel {without conviction). No. {Lies full length.) 

Sylvia. Well, I'll sit down then. {To side of Chesterfield.) 

Daniel. Do. {Sees she wants to sit down. He takes his legs 
off Chesterfield.) 

Sylvia. So you really are better ? {Sitting l. of Chesterfield.) 

Daniel. Of course I'm better — I feel splendid. 

Sylvia. And you still believe what the doctor said ? 

Daniel. I always believe what every one says, I'm a most 
trusting person. 

Sylvia. Oh, is that how you made your money — by being 
trusting ? 

Daniel. Certainly. I trusted other people to lose it and they 
did. 

Sylvia. How d'you mean — lose it ? 

Daniel. Well, you see — look her^, Sylvia, are you cross-examin- 
ing me ? 

Sylvia. Nothing could be further from my thoughts, uncle 
dear, I only wondered, that's all. 

Daniel. Well, don't wonder any more — it's most embarrassing 
— what have you been doing with yourself lately 1 . . . 



"I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 39 

Sylvia. You know perfectly well, uncle, because you sat next 
to me in the car and I told you everything. 

Daniel. Well, tell me some more. Have you had any love 
affairs — girls always like to confide their love affairs. 

Sylvia. Only when they haven't got any — but I don't, anyhow. 
The only one of the family who has got it in the least badly is Bobbie ; 
he's mad on Faith Crombie. 

Daniel. So I gathered— why, do you suppose ? 

Sylvia. We can't think — she's the most irritating girl I've met 
for years — and her mother's hateful, too. 

Daniel. Why are they here ? 

Sylvia. Oh, Bobbie wanted them asked, and mother's much 
too sweet to deny us anything in reason. 

Daniel. I shouldn't call Mrs. Crombie in reason — she's trying 
to pump me. 

Sylvia. You are rather a mysterious person you know, uncle, 
I should like to know lots more about you. 

Daniel. Everything about me is absolutely honourable and 
above board. 

Sylvia. I don't know that it is. 

Daniel. My dear Sylvia — you wound me, you grieve me — I 
feel deeply pained. I— — 

Sylvia {laughing). It's no use trying to bluster out of it, uncle, 
you know as well as I do that it wasn't honourable of you to single 
me out for your money without letting the others know anything 
about it. 

Daniel (quickly). You haven't told them, have you ? {Puts 
his feet down.) 

Sylvia. No — I don't break my word. 

Daniel. And I don't break mine, so you needn't be so sniffy. 

Sylvia. It is breaking it in a way to show favouritism. 

Daniel. I only told you in the very strictest confidence because 
I had faith in you— trusted you. . . . 

Sylvia. It was very sweet of you, uncle, but I don't think you 
should have. 

Daniel. Well, after all, I . . . it's my money and surely I 

Sylvia. You see, it's so terribly unfair to the others — of course 
they don't know, and I shall never breathe a word, but, uncle, I 
do wish you'd leave everything to one of them and not me — I 
shouldn't feel happy for a moment with the money — not for a single 
moment if I'd known aU the time that I was going to get it. Rule me 
out of the list, there's a dear — I'm earning an awful lot now, you 
know, on the films and I really don't need any more — promise you'll 
do what I ask you ? 

Daniel. I don't think you're quite in your right mind, but, 
still — {smiling) I'll see. 

Sylvia, There, I knew you'd see what I meant and be a lamb. 



40 "I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 

Now tell me some of your adventures and things, and how you made 
the money. 

Daniel (uncomfortably). Really, I don't think that. . . . 

Sylvia. It must be so glorious out there — mining and prospecting 
and — by the way how does one prospect 1 

Daniel. How does one prospect ? When one prospects one 
scoops up water from rivers and finds nuggets in one's hands — 
if one's lucky, of course. 

Sylvia. You don't seem to know very much about it, uncle. 

Daniel (nettled). On the contrary I know all about it — but 
you wouldn't understand if I went into technical details. 

Sylvia. I don't believe you would, either. 

Daniel (rises and goes l.). I think, Sylvia, that this lack of 
trust in your fellow-creatures is a very sinister trait in your character 
— you must remember that I am a much older man than you are 
and 

Sylvia. I'm not a man at all. 

Daniel (turns). Sometimes I wish you were, then I could tell 
you what I really think of you. 

Sylvia (rises and goes to him — laughing). There, uncle, I won't 
tease you any more, but still it must have iDeen a wonderful moment 
when you discovered you had made a fortune out of your mine. 

Daniel. I didn't. 

Sylvia (relentlessly). But I thought ■ 

Daniel. That is — not exactly — you see it was like this. . . . 

(Enter Oliver from garden.) 

Daniel (under his breath). Thank God ! (Sits chair below table.) 

Oliver (above arm-chair). Hallo Sylvia. Mother's been looking 
for you — she wants you to helj) her pick strawberries for tea. 
Joyce is with her now, but she isn't much use because she eats them 
as fast as she picks them. 

Sylvia. I'll go now. Stay and keep Uncle Dan company, 
Oliver. Get him to tell you some of his South American experi- 
ences. They're awfully interesting. Bye-bye for the present, 
imcle, 

Daniel. Cheerio ! 

(Exit Sylvia, r.) 

I suppose you haven't such a thing as a whisky and soda about you, 
have you, Oliver ?, 

Oliver. Of course, I'll get you one. 

Daniel. I'm feeling rather exhausted. 

(Oliver goes to side table, mixes a drink and gives it to him.) 

(Weakly) Thank you very much. 

Oliver (c, fingering arm-chair). I say, uncle — can you — er — 
spare me a few minutes ? 



"I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 41 

Daniel (apprehensively). Yes — what is it ? 

Oliver (awkwardly). Well, it's like this — I know it's rather 

bad form to talk about your wiU 

Daniel, Yes, it is. 

Olivek. But I feel I must. I 



Daniel (hurriedly). Wait until another time, don't you worry 
yourself about it now. You wait until I'm dead. 

Oliver (firmly). No, I must get it over — I want to ask you to 
leave your money to one of the others and not to me at all. It was 
awfuUy decent of you to single me out and it bucked me up a lot 
to feel that you thought well of me, but now — well, I'm earning 
steadily and I really don't need a lot, in fact, it might do me harm 
to feel that I needn't work — also it would seem frightfully caddish 
to the others for me to have known all along that I was going to get 
it. Don't you see what I'm driving at ? 

Daniel. In a way, I do, yes. . . . 

Oliver. Well, you'll do what I ask, won't you ? It's a ripping 
feeling being independent (Evangeline passes the window) and 
earning money, and I want to go on at it — (He glances out of the 
ivindow). Here comes Vangy. Now leave it to her. Novel 
writing is a frightfully precarious show and she's a woman and — 
anyhow, will you ? 

Daniel. I'll see. 

(Enter Evangeline.) 

Evangeline. Ah, there you are, Uncle Daniel^ — I've been 
looking for you — I want to have a little talk with you. (Above 
Chesterfield.) 

Daniel. My God ! 

Evangeline. What did you say ? 

Daniel (feverishly). I said, My God ! 

Evangeline. Wasn't that a little unnecessary — but still, I 
expect you get used to swearing over trifles out in the backwoods. 

Daniel. I wasn't anywhere near the backwoods. 

Evangeline. Well, wherever you were then. Do go away, 
Oliver, I want to talk to Uncle Daniel privately. 

Oliver. Righto — you'll remember vvhat I said, won't you, 
Uncle ? Cheerio. 

(Exit Oliver, r.) 

Uncle. Cheerio. What ? Oh, yes, yes. (after Oliver has gone.) 
Evangeline (goes to him). Now, look here— about that will of 
yours — I don't feel that it's quite fair to the others to 

(Enter Mrs. Crombie from garden.) , 

Mrs. Crombie. Oh, there you are, Mr. Davis — I've been wanting 
to have a little talk to you about South America. I had a brother 
out there, you know. (Behind chair r.c.) 



42 "I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 

Daniel {rising, jovially). Splendid — let's talk about him for 
hours. 

Evangeline (a little annoyed). I'll come back later, uncle. 
{Moves to stairs.) 

Mrs. Crombie. I hope I'm not interrupting a heart-to-heart 
talk between uncle and niece. 

Daniel. Not at all, not at all — it's a pleasure, I assure you. 

Evangeline {on stairs). It doesn't matter a bit. Uncle Daniel 
is going to stay with us a long time, I hope. 

{Exit upstairs.) 

Mrs. Crombie {settling herself in arm-chair). Splendid — have 
you such a thing as a cigarette ? 
Daniel. A cigarette, yes, certainly. 
Mrs. Crombie. And a match. 
Daniel. And a match. 

{He hands her a case, she takes one, goes to mantel for matches — then 
he strikes a match and lights it.) 

Mrs. Crombie {girlishly). Now we can be quite comfortable, 
can't we ? 

Daniel. Quite. {Sits on Chesterfield.) 

Mrs. Crombie. As I was saying just now, I had a brother out 
in South America. 

Daniel. What part ? 

Mrs. Crombie. I'm not quite sure — we don't hear from him 
much — he was sent out there for — for 

Daniel. I quite understand. 

Mrs. Crombie. For his health. 

Daniel. I know, they all are. It's a wonderful climate. 

Mrs. Crombie. He hasn't written for ages and ages — we were 
wondering if he was making money or not — it seems so far away, 
anything may be happening to him. 

Daniel. In all probability everything is {laughs to himself). 

Mrs. Crombie. Did you have any thrilling adventures when 
you were making your pile ? 

Daniel. Oh yes, heaps and heaps. 

Mrs. Crombie. I gather that you have a mine of some sort ? 

Daniel. Yes — just near the Grand Stand. 

Mrs. Crombie. The what ? 

Daniel. The Grand Slam. 

Mrs. Crombie. Slam ! 

Daniel. It's the name of a mountain, you know. 

Mrs. Crombie. What a strange name ! Why do they call it 
that ? 

Daniel. I can't imagine. It's often been a source of great 
perplexity to me. 



"I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 43 

Mrs. Crombie. I take it that yours is a gold mine. 

Daniel. Not so that you'd notice it. 

Mrs. Crombie. I beg your pardon ? 

Daniel. Well, I mean — it's not especially a gold mine — it's a 
mixed mine — a little bit of everything — there's tin and silver and 
salt and copper and brass, and God knows what — it's most exciting 
wondering what we are going to find next. 

Mrs. Crombie. Yes, so I should imagine. . . . 

Daniel. Often on weary, dark nights — filled with the cries of 
the jackal and the boa-constrictor. 

Mrs. Crombie. I didn't know boa-constrictors cried. 

Daniel. Only when they are upset about something. Then 
they can't help it. There are few animals as highly emotional as 
a boa-constrictor. Anyhow, as I was saying, we lay awake in the 
throbbing darkness — the darkness out there always throbs— it's a 
most peculiar phenomenon — and wondered — Heavens, how we 
wondered what we should find on the following day. 

Mrs. Crombie. If you'll forgive my saying so, Mr. Davis, I fear 
that you are a bit of a fraud. 

Daniel. I beg your pardon ? 

Mrs. Crombie. I said I thought you were a fraud. 

Daniel. Of course I am — all great men are. Look at George 
Washington. 

Mrs. Crombie. He -vvasn't a fraud. 

Daniel. We only have his word for it. Besides he knew his 
father had seen him cut down the cherry tree. That's why he 
confessed. Anyhow, why should you think I am ? 

Mrs. Crombie. Because you obviously know nothing about 
mining, and I happen to know that there is no such thing as a 
mountain in South America called the Grand Slam. I was deter- 
mined to find out as much as I could about you on account of my 
daughter. 

Daniel (rises). My dear madam, I assure you that there is 
nothing whatever between your daughter and me — my intentions 
are absolutely honourable. {Moves to fireplace.) 

Mrs. Crombie {coldly). I was not alluding to you, but to your 
nephew — your youngest nephew. 

Daniel. Oh, I see. 

Mrs. Crombie. He has been making love to her. This afternoon 
he proposed to her. . . . 

Daniel. Did he, by Jove ! 

Mrs. Crombie. He also spoke about a large sum of money that 
you intended to leave him — I'm sure you will understand my posi- 
tion — I naturally want my daughter to marry well— and 

Daniel. And you mean to make quite sure of the money before- 
hand. I see. 

Mrs. Crombie. You put it rather crudely. 



44 "I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 

Daniel. I think matters of this kind are better discussed crudely. 
One thing I will promise you, Mrs. Crombie. You shall kno%Y full 
particulars of my finances and everything else by the end of the 
day. Until then I fear that you must continue to regard me as 
a fraud. 

Mrs. Crombie. I hope you are not offended at my inquisitive- 
ness, but I really 

Daniel. My dear Mrs. Crombie, when you have knocked about 
the world as much as I have — one learns never to be either sur^jrised 
or shocked. 

Mrs. Crombie. It is very, very hard for mothers, nowadays. 

Daniel. Yes, isn't it ? 

Mrs. Crombie. The children are all so modern they become quite 
ungovernable. . . . 

Daniel {coming forward slightly). I can only say then that my 
nephev/s and nieces are exceptions to the rule. 

Mrs. Crombie. I am so glad you are so satisfied with them. 

Daniel. I am ! I never realised until to-day how absolutely 
splendid it was to be an imcle. How wonderfully proud I should be 
of the fact that they are related to me. I came home eighteen 
months ago expecting to find a family of irritating self-centred young 
people idling about — true they were idling, but I liked them in spite 
of it — I have returned this time to find them not only hard- workers, 
but successful hard-workers. There is not one of them who hasn't 
achieved something — even Joyce, the flapper, has set to and made 
good at school. I tell you I'm proud of them, so proud that I could 
shout it from the house tops, and may I say this, Mrs. Crombie, 
that if your daughter has succeeded in making Bobbie fall in love 
with her, she is a very fortunate young woman. 

(Mrs. Crombie sJiows boredom during speech.) 

Mrs. Crombie. Oh, is she ? 

Daniel. Because he is a fine boy, so is Oliver, so are they all 
splendid — and she should be proud to know them. 

Mrs. Crombie. It really is very lucky that you are so contented 
with your lot. Personally, I'm not so ecstatic. Admitting for a 
moment that your nephew has such a marvellously fine character — 
which I doubt — he should not have made love to my daughter with- 
out being certain of his prospects. 

Daniel. I will speak to him, Mrs. Crombie. 

Mrs. Crombie. I should be very grateful if you would. [Rises 
and moves up to him.) And please understand that nothing — nothing 
is to be settled without my consent. 

Daniel. I quite understand that. 

Mrs. Crombie. Thank you so much — I think I'll rejoin the 
others in the garden nov*^. 

Daniel. I'm sure they'd be charmed. 



"I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 45 

{Exit Mrs. Crombie into garden. Daniel, left alone, lights another 
cigarette.) 

Daniel {feelingly). Whew ! What a woman ! {Falls on Chester- 
field. 

(Evangeline pee^n downstairs.) 

Evangeline. Has she gone ? 

Daniel. Yes, thank Heaven. I say, Vangy, she is a very 
objectionable woman. 

Evangeline {coming down). I know — we all loathe her. Now 
at last I can talk to you alone. {Sits beside him.) 

Daniel. Look here, Evangeline, I know exactly what you are 
going to say, and I settle it all on Griggs, if you like. He'll take it, 
he's a Scotsman. 

Evangeline. How did you know ? 

Daniel. Instinct, my dear, pure instinct. 

Evangeline {rises). Let's talk it all over. 

Daniel {rises and goes l.). No, not now, I must go up to my 
room. 

Evangeline. Oh, just a little talk ! 

Daniel. I have some letters to write. Also I'm tired and I feel 
my illness coming on again. Also I must wash before tea. Also 

Evangeline ifaughing). It's quite obvious that you don't want 
to, so I'll leave you alone. Cheerio for the present. 

Daniel. They all say that. Cheerio ! I'm sure it portends 
something. . . . 

{He goes off upstairs.) 
{Enter Joyce from garden dragging Faith after her.) 

Joyce. Now you've just got to tell the others that. 

Faith {flustered). But I promised Bobbie I wouldn't say a 
word. . . . 

Joyce. V/ell, you've broken your word once, so you can do it 
again. Vangy ! Vangy ! {She goes to window, still dragging 
Faith.) Sylvia ! Oliver ! Bobbie ! 

Evangeline. What on earth is the matter ? 

Joyce. Faith will tell you when the others come. {Dragging 
Faith hack to c.) 

Faith. Look here, this isn't a bit fair of you. Bobbie will 
never forgive me. . . . 

Joyce. I can't help Bobbie's troubles — you should have thought 
of that before. 

{Enter Sylvia and Oliver from garden.) 
Oliver. What's up ? 



46 "I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 

^ Joyce. The moment Bobbie comes, you shall know — jnell for 
him, Oliver. . . . 

(Faith attempts to esccipe, Sylvia stops her.) 

Oliver {goes to tvindow and yells). Bobb-ie ! Hurry up, we 
want you. 

Bobbie (off). All right — coming .... 

{They wait in silence — Joyce still holds firmly on to Faith's arm. 
Enter Bobbie from garden — rather breathless. The positions are as 
follows : — Evangeline down r. Sylvia r.c. above Chesterfield. 
Bobbie a little above Sylvia slightly on her l. Faith c. Joyce on 
Faith's l. Oliver up l.) 

Bobbie. What's the bother ? 

Joyce. Now, Faith, tell them. 

Faith. I won't. 

Joyce. Very well, I will — it's most important — listen, all of you 
— Bobbie was flirting with Faith this afternoon, and he told her 
that Uncle had singled him out from us all to leave his money to. . . . 

Bobbie. Oh, Faith, how could you. (Faith crosses to window l.) 

Sylvia {judiciously). Is this true, Bobbie ? 

Bobbie {miserably). Yes, but I couldn't help it. . . . 

Sylvia. Of course you couldn't. Don't be silly — now I'll tell 
you something. Uncle said exactly the same thing to me. 

Every one. What ! 

Oliver. So he did to me, the dirty dog. 

Joyce. Yes, I guessed as much when Faith told me — he promised 
his whole fortune to me if I won prizes and things at school. 

Evangeline. Well, I needn't tell you that he said the same to 
me. 

Bobbie. What's his game ? 

Sylvia. Hadn't we better ask him ? 

Oliver. Yes, where is he ? 

Evangeline. Upstairs writing letters, washing and being ill. 

Sylvia. Run up and fetch him, Bobbie. 

Bobbie. All right. 

{Exit upstairs two at a time.) 

Oliver. I'd love to know what he's up to. 

Joyce. You will in a minute. 

Evangeline. I shouldn't be too sure, if he's deceived us once, 
he'll probably try to do it again. I don't feel that I can trust him 
at all now. 

Joyce. Look here, when he comes down, what are we to say to 
him — Oliver'd better do it all, he's the eldest. 

Oliver {comes down to table). I'm hanged if I will. 

Sylvia. All right, dear, don't get crusty before the time ; I 



"I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 47 

expect you'll have full opportunities for that later. I'll be spokes- 
man. 
Evangeline. All right. 

(Re-enter Daniel, followed by Bobbie, wiping his hands on a towel. 
Bobbie goes r.) 

Daniel (c). I feel a little like Lady Macbeth, but Bobbie 
wouldn't let me dry properly. "What on earth's the matter ? 
{We want to know. 

Every one. \ Look here, Uncle Daniel. . . . 

(We want an explanation, Uncle Daniel. 

Daniel. You all appear to be perturbed about something. 

Bobbie. We are. 

Sylvia. Shut up, Bobbie, I'm spokesman. 

Daniel {weakly). Couldn't it be some one else ? Sylvia's so 
firm with me. 

Sylvia. I think, uncle, that you occasionally need firmness. 
{Coming down r. by Chesterfield.) 

Daniel. We all do, it's a weakness of the human race — lack of 
stamina — I have it at the moment. Please may I sit down ? 

Oliver. Yes. 

Daniel {sinking into arm-chair). Thank you so much. {Weakly.) 
I begin to feel sleepy. May I have perhaps — a small glass of 
water ? 

Bobbie, All right — I'll get it. {He goes to sideboard.) 

Daniel. With perhaps the teeniest, weeniest little drop of 
whisky ? 

Sylvia. This is all useless prevarication, you know — -we have 
some very important questions to ask you. 

Daniel {rising). Perhaps I'd better stand up then, it's more 
imposing. {He takes water from Bobbie.) Thank you a thousand 
times. Cheerio ! ! 

{They all make a movement of annoyance.) 

Sylvia. Now then, uncle, we've discovered that you have been 
deceiving us. . . . 

Daniel {amazed). I — deceive you ? I'm pained ! I'm hurt ! 
You've wounded me to the quick. 

Bobbie. I don't believe you've got a quick. ' 

Sylvla.. Shut up, Bobbie ! 

(Faith is by window l.) 

Sylvia. Yes, through the agency of Miss Crombie here. 

Daniel. Ah, Miss Crombie, I've just been chatting to your 
mother. {Goes to table and puts glass on it.) 

Sylvia {ignoring his interruption.) Your dastardly trick has been 
exposed, is it or is it not true that you took each of us aside in turn 



48 "I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 

a year and a half ago and filled us up with confidential lies about 
your will ? 

Daniel (bravely). It's absolutely true. 

{Move from all.) 

Sylvia. Why did you do it ? 

Daniel {laughing with forced roguishness). Ah ! . . . 

Sylvia {firmly — with emphasis on each word). Why did you do it ? 

Daniel. Do you really want to know ? 

Evangeline {below form). Of course we do. 

Daniel. Very well, then I'll tell you. The reason was this. 
You were a set of idle young bounders. {A move from all.) You'd 
never done a stroke of work in your lives — neither have I, but I 
didn't see why you shouldn't. There was your poor mother left 
comparatively hard up — you would have to have left this house 
which would have made her perfectly miserable, so I determined 
to spur you on to do something {lyreaking into a smile.) I say, 
you must admit I've succeeded ! 

Sylvia. Never mind, that — go on. 

Daniel {still smiling). Well, not having a penny in the world 
with which to help you myself 

Everyone. What ! ! ! ! ! 

Daniel. I repeat — not having a penny 

Oliver {below table). Do you mean to say you haven't any money 
at all ? 

Daniel {cheerfully). Not a bob ! Except on the all too rare 
occasions when I win a bit. {Laughing.) If it were not for the 
darling little horses, I shouldn't be able to get across to England 
at all. 

Evangeline. What about the mine you told us of ? 

(Joyce is r. of table.) 

Daniel. I never told you of a mine. 

Evangeline. Oh, uncle, you are a fibber ! 

Daniel. You said I had a mine. As a matter of fact I am part 
owner in one. Unfortunately it was long ago proved to be abso- 
lutely worthless. But please don't worry yourselves over me. I 
shall be all right. 

Sylvia (r.c.). We weren't. 

Daniel (c). I didn't say you were, I said don't. I also told you, 
now that I come to think of it, that I had only three years to live. 
That was put in as a bit of local colour, I hope to live to eighty-two 
or even eighty-three. 

Bobbie {above Chesterfield). Well, all I can say is — it's the rotten- 
est trick I ever heard. 

Joyce. Uncle, how could you ? {She sniffs.) 

Bobbie. How dare you come here and stuff us up with promises 



"I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 49 

that you can never keep. I'm jolly well fed up. I thought you 
were such a sport and — oh, what's the use of talking. You don't 
give a damn. Come away, Faith. 
Faith {tossing her head). Very well. 

{Exit Bobbie and Faith into garden.) 

Evangeline {coming forward, moves between Chesterfield and arm- 
chair — contemptuously). It strikes me as being a singularly pointless 
practical joke — I'm very disappointed in you, Uncle Daniel. 

{Exit R.) 

Oliver {coming in front of Joyce). So am I — damned disap- 
pointed. I thought you were too decent to do a thing like that. 

{Exit R.) 

Joyce. I think you're horrid, it'll get all over the school now. 
{She bursts into tears and exits r.) 

(Sylvia turns and looks at Uncle Daniel.) 

Daniel. They've all had a go at me. Haven't you anything to 
say too, Sylvia ? 

Sylvia. No, I haven't anything to say at all. 

Uncle Daniel. Oh ! {Sits in armchair.) 

Sylvia. You see I knew all the time. {Goes to above him.) 

Daniel {incredulously). You knew ? 

Sylvia. Well, I guessed from the first and found out afterwards. 

Daniel. But how ? 

Sylvia. Well, uncle darling, I knew that no one with a smile 
like yours could ever have a bob ! 

{Kisses him, goes off laughing. Uncle Daniel settles himself in 
armchair, smiling.) 

Curtain. 



ACT III. 

Scene. — The scene is the same as the preceding acts. Alterations in 
the furniture are noted at the end of the jylay. It is seven-thirty on 
the morning following the events of Act II. When the Cubtain rises, 
the sun is streaming in through the open window L.c. Bobbie can 
be seen standing just outside looking up apparently at an upper 
window. 

Bobbie (calling softly). Faitli ! Faith ! 

Faith {heard off). What is it ? 

Bobbie. Come down and talk to me. 

Faith. Don't be silly— 

Bobbie. Please do — I've got lots to tell you. 

Faith. Oh, all right — wait a minute. 

(Bobbie comes mooching into the hall through the window. Enter 
Faith downstairs.) 

Faith. Good morning, Mr. Dermott. {Offers hand coldly.) 

Bobbie (l.c). I say — you have been quick. 

Faith (c, coldly). I've been up for hours — what is it you want ? 

Bobbie. I've had a perfectly miserable night — I couldn't sleep 
a wink. I want to know if you really meant what you said last 
night. 

Faith. Of course I really meant it, how silly you are. 

Bobbie. I'm not silly — I thought maybe it was only the heat of 
the moment that made you so utterly beastly. 

Faith. If you're going to be rude I shall go away. {She sits 
down in chair by Chesterfield.) 

Bobbie. Do you really care for me so little that you can give me 
up at a moment's notice like that ? 

Faith, You will not understand Bobbie — I had to. 

Bobbie. Why ? 

Faith. Because mother made me promise. 

Bobbie {up to her). What did she make you promise ? 

Faith. She made me promise that — that 

Bobbie. Well ? 

Faith. Well, you see I'm an only child, and mother wants me 

to be hajjpy above all things and 

50 



".I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 51 

Bobbie. I could make you liappy — wonderfully happy. 

Faith. Mother doesn't think so. You see I've always been used 
to having money and comforts and things. 

Bobbie. Do you imagine that I shouldn't have been able to 
give you all the comforts you wanted whether I had uncle's money 
or not ? Why, in a year or so I shall be making hundreds and 
hundreds. I mean to be successful — nothing will stop me. 

Faith. Well, Bobbie, if you come to me again then, perhaps 
mother would 

Bobbie. You mean that I'm to go on working for my happiness 
on the off chance of your being free to accept me ? Neither you nor 
your mother have enough trust in me to believe that I shall make a 
big name for myself. Good God, it was a pretty thought of your 
parents to call you " Faith." I suppose if you had a couple of 
sisters you'd call them Hope and Charity. 

Faith. It's no use being angry and beastly about it. One must 
use a little common sense. 

Bobbie. It isn't a question of common sense, but common decency. 

Faith. How dare you say that. {She pulls him round by the leg 
of Ms trousers. He brushes her hand aivay. She repeats this business.) 
Why can't we just be friends ? 

Bobbie. You know I'm much too fond of you to be just friends. 
Men can't switch their feelings on and oii' like bath-taps. If they 
mean a thing they mean it, and there's an end of it. 

Faith. I wish I'd never come down at all if all you mean to do 
is grumble at me. 

Bobbie. It's more than grumbling — it's genuine unhappiness. 
{Sits on form below table.) I quite realize now that you never reaUy 
cared for me a bit, in spite of what you said ; but still I want to 
find out why — why you've changed so suddenly, why need you have 
hurt me so much. If you'd written breaking it off, it would have 
been different, but you've been so — so unnecessarily brutal. 

Faith. It was mother's fault. 

Bobbie. Is everything you do your mother's affair ? Does she 
count every breath you take ? Wliy, your life simply can't be worth 
living ! 

Faith. I wish I could make you see. . . . 

Bobbie {in a loiver register). I'm afraid you've made me see too 
much. I didn't know people could be so callous and cruel. . . . 

Faith {quickly). I'm not callous and cruel. 

Bobbie. Oh yes, you are, and you've made me determine one 
thing, and that is that henceforth I honestly mean to cut women out 
of my life for ever. {A move from Faith.) I know it's a hackneyed 
thing to say, but I mean it. I ought to have taken a lesson from 
other fellows' experiences, but of course I didn't. 

Faith. I think you're very silly and childish to be so bitter. 

Bobbie. Bitter ! {Laughs satirically.) What else could I be ? 



52 "I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 

The one girl whom I cared for and trusted has gaily thrown me over 
the first moment she hears that I am not going to have as much 
money as she thought. I'm losing my temper now, and I'm glad 
of it. I shall probably repent every word I say afterwards, but that 
won't stop me telling you exactly what I think of you. I don't 
suppose you've ever been in love at all — except to the extent of hav- 
ing signed photographs of Owen Nares and Henry Ainley stuck all 
over your bedroom, but when you do, I hope you get it really badly, 
you deserve to be absolutely utterly wretched, as wretched as 
you've made me, and I hope when you do marry that you get a 
rotten old Scotch marmalade maker v/ho says " Hoots ! " and spills 
haggis all down his waistcoat. 

Faith {bursting into tears). Oh, Bobbie, how dare you. . . . 
{goes to her and goes down on his knees) 

Bobbie. Oh, Faith darling, forgive me, I didn't mean a word of 
it — I swear I didn't. . . . 

Faith {they both rise). Whether you meant it or not I hate you. 
{Pushes him away.) You're blatant and beastly, and I never wish to 
see you again. {She ivalks upstairs and j)f^'^ses.) I shall have 
breakfast in my room. {Exit.) 

(Bobbie stamps out and collides tvith Sylvia, who is coming in with 
a bunch of freshly picked flowers.) 

Bobbie. Why can't you look where you're going ? 

{He stamjys out of sight.) 

Sylvia. Nice sweet-tempered little fellow. {Moves to above 
table ; ;pirfs roses in bowl. Takes " Daily Mirror " from ivindow- 
seat, goes down to Chesterfield and reads it.) 

{Enter Daniel downstairs with bag. He comes very quietly and 
doesn't see Sylvia. He stumbles and Sylvia tvatches him.) 

Sylvia {suddenly). Excuse me ! Have you been stealing any- 
thing. 

Daniel {ptutting doum bag). Damn ! I didn't want any one to 
see me. 

Sylvia. Where were you going ? 

Daniel {coming e.g.). To the Green Hart. I couldn't face 
another meal like dinner last night. 

Sylvia. I know it was pretty awful, but you can't go out of the 
house like this. Mother'd be furious. 

Daniel. One more wouldn't matter — everybody else is. {Com- 
ing L.C.) 

Sylvia. I'm not a bit. 

Daniel. I know, I was just going to except you ; you've been 
charming, but really it was terrible. I can't stay. Oliver has such 



"I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 53 

a lowering expression, and if Joyce gives me one more " dumb animal 
in pain " look, I shall scream. 

Sylvia. I can't understand why they're all being so silly — I 
gave them credit for more sense of humour. 

Daniel. And Bobbie — Bobbie was the worst of the lot. 

Sylvia. Well, one can forgive him a little more because of 
Faith. 

Daniel. Why ? What about Faith ? 

Sylvia {rising, going to him). Oh, the little beast chucked him 
last night, the moment she heard you weren't going to leave him a 
fortune. 

Daniel. Did she, by Jove ! 

Sylvia (xeturning r.c). Personally I'm delighted. I always dis- 
trusted her, and this proves what I've said all along. But that 
doesn't make Bobbie any better tempered about it. 

Daniel (l.c). Poor old Bobbie, I bet he hates me. 

Sylvia. If he does he's a fool. 

Daniel. After all you can't blame him, it's only natural. 

Sylvia. He ought to be jolly grateful to you for being the means 
of showing her up. 

Daniel. Perhaps — but he won't be. I know what it feels like ; 
we ail go through it sometime or another. I'd love to wring that 
girl's neck though. 

Sylvia. You like Bobbie best of us all, don't you ? 

Daniel. With the exception of you — yes. I think it's because 
he's the most like me. He is, you know^. If he'd lived my life he'd 
have done exactly the same things. 

Sylvia. I wonder. {Sits l. of Chesterfield.) 

Daniel {smiling). I know. {He sits on chair, head of table.) 
He's got just the same regard for the truth, the same sublime con- 
tempt of the world, and the same amount of bombast and good 
opinion of himself that I started with, I only hope he'll make better 
use of his chances, and carve out a better career for himself. 

Sylvia. If he does, he'll owe it all to you — first for rousing him 
up and making him work, and secondly for getting rid of Faith for 
him. Had he married her, she'd have been a millstone round his 
neck. He doesn't realize it now, but yesterday was one of the 
luckiest days of his life. 

Daniel. D'you really think so ? 

Sylvia. I'm sure of it. 

Daniel. That's simply splendid. You've bucked me up tre- 
mendously. I shan't mind the Green Hart nearly so much now. 
(Rising.) 

Sylvia {putting him back on seat). Uncle, you're not to go to the 
Green Hart at all, I won't have it. 

Daniel. I must. When they all sit round looking reproachfully 
at me, it makes me feel as if I could sink under the table. 



54 "I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 

Sylvia {patting Jivm and kneeling by him). But they won't — 
they'll have got over it. 

Daniel. They're all much too young to get over being made 
fools of as quickly as that. 

Sylvia. But, uncle 

Daniel. It's no use — I'm firm. I won't come back imtil they 
want me. As a matter of fact I realise I've been very foolish. I 
shouldn't have let things go so far. Naturally they were terribly 
disappointed at my wanting to live till eighty-two or eighty-three, 
and not having any money to leave them. 

Sylvia. They're not really disappointed so much as outraged. 
They feel you've been laughing up your sleeve at them, as of course 
you have. 

Daniel. No, I haven't — you're wrong there— I haven't. I 
couldn't help you financially. I'd borrowed the money to come over 
and the cheque I'd sent before. I'd just won, so I thought that the 
only way to assist at all was to use mental persuasion on all of you. 
There's always something fascinating in the idea of having money 
left one. It seems such an easy way of getting it. Of course it 
answered better than I could have imagined in my wildest dreams. 

Sylvia. It was a little unnecessary to take each of us aside like 
you did and stuff us up with hope. 

Daniel. That and a bunch of keys was all I had. It was such 
a wonderful situation. I — never having had a penny in the wide, 
(gaily), arranging to leave you my entire fortune. (He starts to 
laugh.) You must confess it was very, very funny. 

Sylvia {also laughing). Yes, it was . . . {They both laugh heartily). 

Daniel {still laughing). And when I said I had sleeping sick- 
ness ! . . . 

Sylvia {weak with laughter). Oh, imcle, how could you. 

Daniel {wiping his eyes). Oh dear, oh dear! 

Sylvia. Poor mother getting more mystified every minute, and 
bothered poor Tibbets till he doesn't know if he is on his head or his 
heels. 

Daniel {rising suddenly). But look here, they'll all be down in a 
minute. (Sylvia stands up.) They mustn't find me here, poised 
for flight. I must go at once. {Going behind Chesterfield and picking 
up bag.) 

Sylvia (l. of him). Yes, but will you promise on your word of 
honour to come back the moment I send for you ? 

Daniel. If you give me your word of honour not to send for me 
until everything's quite all right and everyone is perfectly amiable 
towards me. I couldn't bear any more rebuffs. I should burst 
into tears if anybody even gave me a look ! 

Sylvia. Yes, I'll promise. 

Daniel. I trust you because, after all, you spotted from the 
first. 



"I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 55 

Sylvia. That wasn't very difficult. I've always had a good 
eye for hypocrites. (Daniel slaps her.) Mind you don't go any 
further afield than the Green Hart ! 

Daniel. You bet I shan't ! 

{Exit Daniel through window.) 

Sylvia (looking out of window after him). Bye-bye ! (Coming 
down stage.) Bless his heart ! 

(Enter Griggs from^ r. with breakfast dishes which he places on side- 
board.) 

Griggs. Will you do the coffee as usual, miss ? 
Sylvia. Yes, Griggs. By the way, get me a bigger bowl for 
those roses when you have time. 
Griggs. Yes, miss. 

(He bangs loudly on a big gong, and exits r. Enter Mrs. Dermott 

downstairs.) 

Sylvia. Hello, mother. (Kiss across l. banisters.) 

Mrs. Dermott. Good morning, darling. Are there any letters ? 

Sylvia. Only one for you, I think. 

Mrs. Dermott (taking letter from table). From Tibbets, I expect. 
(Sniffs at it.) No ! From Isobel Harris. (Sits at the head of 
the table.) I do hope she doesn't want to come and stay — I 
couldn't bear that. (Opens it.) Oh no, it's only to say that 
Fanny's engaged to an officer in the Coldstream Guards. How 
splendid for her. 

Sylvia. Poor Fanny — I'm glad. (Sits in chair on her mother's 
left.) 

Mrs. Dermott. Why do you say poor Fanny, dear ? I'm sure 
she's very fortimate. Now-a-days when nice men are so scarce. 
I was only saying 

Sylvia. She didn't say he was a nice man — only that he was in 
the Coldstream Guards. I said poor because I can just imagine all her 
awful relations as bridesmaids, and her father and mother shoving 
her up the altar steps in their efforts to get her safely married. 

Mrs. Dermott. Isobel means well, although she's a little trying. 
But I've never liked Charlie — no man with such a long, droopy 
moustache could ever be really trusted. Besides, they're so insani- 
tary. Sound the gong again, dear. I do wish they'd all learn to 
be a little more punctual. 

(Sylvia does so, and returns to sideboard. Enter Joyce downstairs 
followed by Oliver ; they are both obviously suffering from temper. 
They both kiss mother.) 

Joyce (disagreeably, as she comes downstairs). All right ! All 
right ! — we're coming. What's the fuss ? (Sits on form.) 



56 "I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 

(Oliveb crosses to Chesterfield, picks up Sylvia's ^ja^^er and reads, 
pacing up and down.) 

Mrs. Dermott. There's no fuss, darling, but it's stupid to let 
the breakfast get cold. I've got mushrooms this morning specially 
because Uncle Daniel likes them. 

{Enter Bobbie from garden profoundly gloomy. Kisses 7notJier.) 

Bobbie. You could hear that beastly gong a mile off. 

(Sylvia crosses to table with coffee and milk.) 

Mrs. Dermott. I'm so glad, dear. It shows it's a good gong. 
Eing the bell, will you, Oliver ? (Oliver does so.) Vfhere's Evange- 
line ? She's generally quite an early bird. 

{Enter Evangeline downstairs. She is distinctly depressed. 

Evangeline {on the stairs). Here I am, mother {kisses Mrs. 
Dermott). {With sarcasm.) What a pity it is that the bath water 
isn't a little hotter. I hate tepidity in anything. {Sits on Sylvia's 
left.) 

(Bobbie serves bacon, sitting at the foot of the table, facing Mrs. 

Dermott.) 

Oliver. If Joyce didn't bounce in and take it all it would be 
hotter. 

Joyce. I didn't have a bath at all this morning, so there. 

Oliver. Well, you're a dirty little pig then. 

Mrs. Dermott. There's probably something wrong with the 
boiler. I'll see about it after breakfast. 

{Enter Griggs, comes below Mrs. Dermott.) 

Oh, Griggs, just tap on Miss Crombie's door, will you, and tell her 
that breakfast is ready. 

Griggs. Miss Crombie wished me to say that she is taking 
breakfast in her bedroom, madam. I'm sending up a tray. 

Mrs. Dermott. Quite right, Griggs. I wonder if she's feeling 
ill or anything. I'll go up presently. Oh, and will you find out if 
Mr. Davis is coming down soon ? 

Griggs. Mr. Davis is not in his room, madam. 

Mrs. Dermott. Not ? How very strange — he's probably in 
the garden somewhere. That'll do, Griggs ? 

{Exit Griggs, r.) 

Perhaps you'd better sound the gong again, Bobbie, he might not 
have heard it. 

(Bobbie crossing in front of table goes to the gong and bangs savagely 
on it. Every one stops up their ears.) 

Mrs. Dermott. You seem to have taken a dislike to that 



"I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 57 

»ong, darling. We must start without him, that's all. Do sit 
down, Oliver, you're much too big to pace backwards and forwards 
like that. Pour out the coffee, Sylvia dear, if it's ready. 

(Oliver sits on Evangeline's left. Bobbie sits again at the foot 
of the table. Joyce drops her fork with a loud clatter — every one 
jumps. Sylvia pours out coffee.) 

Evangeline. If you'd endeavour to cultivate a little more 
repose, Joyce dear, it would be an advantage. 

Joyce {truculently). I couldn't help it. 

Mrs. Dermott (brightly). Fancy— Fanny Harris is engaged. 

Bobbie (gloomily). What fun. 

Mrs. Dermott. It may not be fun to you, but it will be most 
amusing to Mrs. Harris. I do wish Daniel would come in. Where 
can he be ? 

Bobbie. No one cares, anyhow. 

Mrs. Dermott. How can you be so horrid, Bobbie — I did think 
you'd have recovered from your silly temper before this. Fancy 
not being able to take a joke. 

Oliver. It wasn't a joke, it was true. 

Mrs. Dermott. You really are utterly absurd. Pass me the 
toast. I wouldn't have believed you could all have been so silly. 
I expect Uncle Daniel is just laughing at you. 

Oliver. Yes, that's just what he is doing. 

Mrs. Dermott. I really think, Oliver, that you, as the eldest, 
ought to set a little better example. And the marmalade — thank 
you. After all, considering how good he's been to us, we might 
allow him to have a little joke without becoming disagreeable — even 
if it doesn't amuse us very much. Why, I 

Joyce. But, mother, I tell you it isn't a joke — it's the gospel 
truth. 

Mrs. Dermott. I've never known such a set of maddening chil- 
dren. Pass me the paper, will you, Sylvia ? I wish to read it. 

(Sylvia hands her newspaper from window seat and she opens it out 
and reads it, ignoring the family altogether. Telegraph — with extra 
pages inserted.) 

Oliver (breaking the silence). Has any one seen my tennis 
racquet ? 

Joyce. Bobbie had it yesterday, 

Bobbie. No, I didn't. 

Joyce. Yes, you did, you and Faith — I saw you. 

Oliver. Well, where is it now. 

Sylvia (ruminatively). I did see a racquet behind the summer 
house this morning. Would that be it ? 

Oliver (furiously). Look here, Bobbie, if you go leaving my 
racquet out all night again I'll punch your head. . . . 



58 "I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 

Bobbie {rising, flaring u])). I tell you I never touched your 
damned racquet — I've got one of my own. {Knocks Ms chair over.) 

Joyce. A jolly rotten one, though. 

Bobbie. Shut up, Joyce, and mind your own business. 

Evangeline. Don't speak to Joyce like that, Bobbie. You 
ought to be ashamed of yourself, 

Bobbie. I'll speak how I like. 

Oliver (rising). Not while I'm here, you won't. 

Bobbie (jeeringly). Come on, oh strong and silent elder brother, 
let's be manly and knock one another about. 

Oliver. A little more of that would do you a lot of good. 

Bobbie. Well, you'd better not try it. 

(Oliver knocks a plate on to the floor, breaking it.) 

There, that's what happens when you let elephants loose in the 
house. {Picks up his chair.) 

{During this, Mrs. Dermott does comic business with newspapier, 
repeatedly dropping sheets and attempting to fold the paper.) 

Mrs. Dermott. Oliver, if you and Bobbie can't stop quarrelling 
you'd better both leave the table. I can't think what's the matter 
with you all. Just because Uncle Daniel chose to have a little fun 
with you, you all behave like bears with sore heads. 

(Bobbie and Oliver re-sit and continue eating.) 

Evangeline. Uncle Daniel meant every word he said, mother. 
He hasn't got a penny in the world. 

Mrs. Dermott. Nonsense, Evangeline. How do you suppose 
he could get backwards and forwards to America and send me large 
cheques and things ? 

Joyce. He wins a little from time to time by horse-racing. 

Mrs. Dermott. Kubbish. No one can never win at horse- 
racing. I never did. The bookies and jockeys and people don't 
let you. 

Evangeline. Mother dear, how can you be so obstinate. I tell 
you he told us all about it in here yesterday afternoon — gave us 
his solemn word 

Mrs. Dermott. But only in fun, darling, only in fun — he's 
obviously a very rich man. 

Oliver. Hah ! 

Mrs. Dermott. By the by, I wish one of you would just go 
into the garden and find him. The mushrooms will be ruined. 

Sylvia. He isn't in the garden at all, mother, he's gone to the 
Green Hart. 

{All look surprised.) 

Mrs. Dermott. What do you mean, Sylvia ? Why has he gone 
to the Green Hart ? 



"I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 59 

Sylvia. Because every one here had been so beastly to him. 
{They all continue breakfast hurriedly.) 

Mes. Dermott. You mean that he ! Oh, Sylvia ! (She 

bursts into tears.) 

Sylvia. Mother darling, don't cry. . . . {Rises and kisses her.) 

Mrs. Dermott {weejnng bitterly). Darling Danny. My only 
brother. And you've driven him away — after all his kindness and 
everything. Oh, how could you ? How could you ? He must be 
sent for at once. {She rises and rings the bell, dropjying bits of 
newspaper en route.) You're wicked, wicked children, and you 
don't deserve any one to be kind to you ever again. 

{Enters Griggs, r.) 

Oh, Griggs, send the car down to the Green Hart at once to fetch 
Mr. Davis. 
Griggs. Yes, madam. 

{Exit Griggs, r.) 

Mrs. Dermott (c). How dare you behave like you have done. 
I shall never, never forgive you — you're cruel and horrid and 

Oliver. It's all very fine, mother, but he made fools of us. 

Mrs. Dermott. He didn't do anything of the sort — he only 
meant it kindly — going to all that, trouble, too {she xveeps again), 
with one foot in the grave. 

Bobbie. And the other in the Green Hart. 

Joyce. He's not going to die. He said he meant to live to 
eighty-two. 

Mrs. Dermott. Eighty-three, I think, was the age, dear, but 
that's just another instance of his dear unselfishness — so that you 
wouldn't worry over him. I know ! I'm going up to my room — 
you've upset me for the rest of the day. Call me the very moment 
he comes. Oh, how could you ? How could you be so unkind ? 
Oh, just look at my nose, it's all red and shiny. 

{Exit upstairs. Sylvia follows, standing at the foot of the stairs, 
looking after her. There is silence for a moment.) 

Bobbie. That's torn it. 
Joyce. Now what are we to do ? 
Sylvia {moving down). I know. {At head of table.) 
Oliver. What, then ? 

Sylvia. Apologise to Uncle Dan, every one of you, for being such 
utter beasts. 

Oliver. "Well, I'm hanged ! 

{During the following speech, the others continue their breakfasts.) 

Sylvia. So you jolly well ought to be. Who do you owe your 
position in the motor works to, Oliver ? Uncle Dan. Who do 



60 "I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 

you owe your song successes to, Bobbie ? Uncle Dan. And 
you, Joyce, d'you think you'd bave won a single thing if it hadn't 
been for him ? Do you inaagine Evangeline would have had the 
vim to have stuck to her novel if it hadn't been for Uncle Dan's 
faith in her ? I know I should never have done a thing, either. 
And all we did it for apparently, was that he could die off con- 
veniently and leave us his money — the moment he'd done that 
I suppose we should have stopped working. What charming 
characters ! Waiting for a man to die, and then getting disagreeable 
because he says he doesn't want to. Do you think any one of you 
v/ould stop work now for anything ? Of course you wouldn't. 
I know that. Don't you see that Uncle Dan chose the one and 
only way of really helping us ? He's worked wonders and we ought 
to be thankful to him until our dying day. . . . 

Bobbie {marmalade on toast in hand). It's all very fine for you — 
he hasn't come between you and the only person you've ever loved. . . . 

Sylvia. And that's one of the best things of all — he's been 
the means of showing Faith up in her true colours. Bobbie, you 
must realise now in your heart of hearts what a rotter she is ? 

Bobbie. She wouldn't have been if it wasn't for her beastly 
mother. Just because you found him out before us, by a fluke, 
you think you can preach to us about being rude to him. Well, 
you'd have been just as bad under the same circumstances, if not 
worse. The fact of you having spotted his game doesn't make it 
any the less disgusting. He's behaved atrociously and you know 
it, making fools of us all. What do you think my friends will say ? 
Joyce's school girls ? Vangy's literary nuts ? 

Sylvia {coming down r. to below Chester-field). It's your own siUy 
faults. You shouldn't have told them. 

Evangeline {rising). Don't be so superior. Of course we only 
did in confidence. {Going up R., folloived by Joyce.) 

Sylvia. Well, that's not Uncle Dan's fault, he only did it for 
the best. . . . 

Bobbie. Best be damned ! 

Sylvia. If you can't curb your language I should think you'd 
better go outside. 

Bobbie {rising, hiife in hand). I shall do exactly as I like. I'm 
fed up with you, Sylvia, you're as bad as he is. {Throws knife on 
table.) And if you think you can get round us by making excuses 
for him you're jolly well mistaken. I suppose all this is a put-up 
job ! {Moves to l.c.) 

Sylvia (r.c). How dare you, Bobbie ! It's nothing of the 
sort. Only luckily I have a little discrimination, I can see the 
difference between good and bad, and Uncle Dan's good, good all 
through. He wouldn't do harm to any one or anything in the 
world. He did all this out of genuine kindness. He couldn't help 
us in any other way, so he made us work, hoping it would improve 



"I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 61 

us. And I sttould think he'd go back to America sick and wretched 
inside with disappointment having discovered that we, his only 
relatives, have only liked him and been nice to him because of his 
money — waiting for him to die like beastly treacherous ghouls. 

(Evangeline attempts to speak.) 

That's what you are, ghouls ! (Turning on Evangeline.) And 
selfish pigs, and if you don't apologise to him I shall never speak 
to any of you again. 

Oliver. Hah ! (Throws down serviette and exits n.) 
Sylvia. Oh, you're very dignified walking out like that without 
saying anything. I hate you ! I hate you all ! Poor Uncle 
Daniel — it's rotten. (She bursts out crying, and subsides on Chester- 
field.) 

(Towards the end of her speech, the rest have risen and walked out with 
their heads in the air, R. Bobbie kicks violently at paper .on floor 
and goes upstairs. There is a moment's pause, then enter Daniel 
from garden.) 

Daniel (coming c). I left the car down the drive, hoping to 
make a sweet lovable entrance with perhaps a few rose leaves on 
my coat. Where is everybody ? 

Sylvia (sniffing on Chesterfield). It's no use, they're still being 
beastly. Mother sent for you. She's frightfully upset at your 
going to the Green Hart. 

Daniel. If they're keeping it up, I think I'd better go back. 
(Moving towards entrance.) 

Sylvia (rising). No, you're not to do anything of the sort, you're 
to stay here. (Firmly.) They can be as disagreeable as they like, 
we'll go about together ; you can come to the studio with me to-mor- 
row morning. 

Daniel (up to her). You, Sylvia, are what is described as a 
sympathetic character. You've been very nice to me all along. 
Can I leave you anything ? 

Sylvia. Don't joke about it, uncle, it's all so horrid. 

Daniel. If I don't joke I shall burst into storms of passionate 
sobbing. (Moves down c.) 

Sylvia. That would be rather awful. Here comes mother. . . . 

(Enter Mrs. Dermott downstairs.) 

Mrs. Dermott. Danny darling, why were you so silly as to take 
any notice of the children ? They're unkind and heartless, and I 
ordered the mushrooms specially for you this morning. Sit down 
and have them now. They'll be quite hot still, (She pushes him 
into chair.) Sylvia, get them, if you please. I can't think why 
they're all behaving like this, I shall never forgive them, Danny 
dear. You won't let them upset you, will you ? 



62 "I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 

(She hisses Mm. Mrs. Dermott sits in Sylvia's chair, Daniel 
in Mrs. Dermott's.) 

Daniel. Well, they seem to liave upset everything else. 

{Enter Griggs, r.) 

Mrs. Dermott. Bring some more toast and cofiee, Griggs. Or 
would you rather have tea ? 

Daniel. Tea, please. 

Mrs. Dermott. Tea then, Griggs. 

Griggs. Very good, madam. {PicJcs up remains of paper above 
Chesterfield and exit r.) 

Sylvia {handing him plate of mushrooms and bacon). Here you 
are, uncle dear — I'm going upstairs. Call me if you want anjrthing. 

{Exit Sylvia upstairs.) 

Daniel. I will. 

Mrs. Dermott. I'm sure he won't. 

Daniel. Now look here, Anne, you're not to include Sylvia 
in your fury against the family. She has been perfectly sweet. 

Mrs. Dermott. So she ought to be — and the others as well. 
Such nonsense, I never heard of such a thing. Not being able to 
take a joke better than that. I don't know what's happened to 
them, they were such dear good-natured children. They used to 
make booby traps and apple-pie beds for one another and not mind 
a bit. 

(Mrs. Dermott keeps buttering toast for him, arranging it round 
his 2Jl(('te.) 

Daniel. But you see, Anne, this perhaps has irritated them 
more than an apple-pie bed. 

Mrs. Dermott. I don't see why, it's just as harmless, and much 
less trouble. 

Daniel. If I had known they were going to take it so badly 
I should have thought of something else. I have lots of ideas. 
But even now, when I come to look back over everything, I don't 
see what else I could have done. 

Mrs. Dermott. You're just the kindest old darling in the world 
and everything, every single thing you have done for us, has been 
perfect. 

Daniel. Dear Anne, don't be absurd. It was nothing, worse 
than nothing, but I'd "given it a lot of thought, and after all it has 
bucked them up and made them work. They're looking much 
better in health, too. 

Mrs. Dermott. Oh, Danny, I only wish you were better in 
health. The shadow of your illness just hangs over me like a 
nightmare. I can't pass a flower shop without thinking of you. 

Daniel {puts doivn knife and fork). But I'm not ill at all. I've 
no intention of dying until I'm eighty-three or even eighty-four. 



"I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 63 

Mrs, Dermott. Dear old boy, you're only saying that so that 
I shan't worry. [She dabs her eyes.) But it's no use, you can't 
deceive me, you know. 

Daniel. But, Anne, I swear. — 

Mrs. Dermott. There, there, we'll say no more about it. It 
only upsets me and here's your tea. 

{She takes tea from Griggs, who has entered with tea and toast. He 
goes off again.) 

Have you seen your doctor lately ? 

Daniel (resignedly). Yes, I saw him the other day. 

Mrs. Dermott {pouring out tea). And what did he say ? 

Daniel {confused). Well — er — I don't know — he sounded me. 

Mrs. Dermott. Yes, they always do that. I wonder why. 
Your illness has nothing to do with your heart has it ? 

Daniel {firmly). My dear Anne, I haven't got an illness. 

Mrs. Dermott. I'm sure I hope not, dear, but if he said that, 
I should really get another more expert opinion if I were you. A 
man like that can't be really reliable. I don't believe in doctors 
ever since poor Millicent Jenkins died. 

Daniel. Look here, Anne, I really do want to make you under- 
stand that what I told the children is perfectly true. I haven't 
any money. 

Mrs. Dermott. Nonsense, dear, you can't pull my leg as easily 
as that. How were you able to send that cheque when I most 
needed it, and those lovely Christmas presents, and the fares back- 
wards and forwards to America — I believe youve got some big 
surprise for us all later on and you're afraid that we'll guess it. 

Daniel. Yes, I have. 

Mrs. Dermott {rising). Now look here, dear, I must leave you 
for a little while. Saturday is the busiest morning in the whole 
week. Finish off your breakfast and smoke a pij)e — or a cigar or 
something ; if any of the children come near you, just ignore them 
or pretend to be frightfully angry with them. That mil bring them 
round. 

{Enter Griggs hurriedly, r.) 

Griggs. If you please, madam, the boiler is making the most 
peculiar noises. Shall I send for Brown to come and look at it ? 

Mrs. Dermott. I don't think that will do it any good, but still 
perhaps you'd better. I'll come myself in a minute. 

{Exit Griggs, r.) 

Mrs. Dermott (c). Eeally, everything is going wrong this 
morning, first you, Danny, then the boiler ; sometimes life isn't 
worth living — I do hope it won't burst. 

{Exit Mrs. Dermott, r. Daniel sits thoughtful for a moment and 



64 "I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 

then resumes his breakfast. Enter Joyce from garden. She sees 
Uncle Daniel and comes rather sheepishly up to him.) 

Joyce. Uncle, I- 

Daniel {gruffly). Good morning. 

Joyce (feebly). Good morning. {There is a long pause.) Uncle 
Daniel — we've — er — we've all been talking 

Daniel. That's quite a natural and healthy occupation. 

Joyce. We — we were talking about you. 

Daniel, That makes it none the less natural or healthy. 

Joyce. Of course it didn't. You see — I mean to say — we — 
well, they sent me in to tell you that 

Daniel. Perhaps you'd better tell me another time when you 
are more in the mood. Have you seen the papers anywhere 1 

Joyce. They ought to be over there. {She points to tvindow 
seat R., and goes down to Bobbie's chair.) 

Daniel {rising and moving quickly to r.). Thanks. Don't you 
bother — I can get my own paper. {Gets news'paper and returns to 
his seat at the head of the table.) 

{There is a long silence, Daniel reads the paper. Joyce shakes her 
head as Oliver strolls in from the garden and looks at Joyce for 
news.) 

Oliver. Have you had your breakfast, uncle ? 

Daniel. Yes, thank you, and I slept beautifully. 

Oliver. It's a jolly nice morning. 

Daniel. That remark makes up in truth for what it lacks in 
originality. 

Oliver. Oh. {Moves to ivindow, l.c, turns, catches Danial's 
eye and turns quickly back.) 

(Joyce continues to fidget at the foot of the table. Enter Bobbie 
downstairs and Evangeline r. They look meaningly at Joyce, 
who shakes her head vigorously.) 

Daniel. Have you a headache, Joyce, you keep wagging it 
about. 

Joyce {very politely). No, thank you, uncle, I 

Daniel. Splendid, then I shan't have to offer you an aspirin. 

Evangeline and Bobbie {together, coming forward hand-in-hand 
down R.C.). Uncle, we've all been {They stop.) 

Daniel. Yes ? 

{There is business of each of them wishing the other to speak to Daniel.) 

Tell me one thing, if any of you are capable of uttering a word, is 
this a game ? Have I got to guess whether something's a vegetable 
or a mineral or something ? 



•'I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 65 

Evangeline. No, [uncle, it's a mucli harder game than that — 
for us, anyhow. We've come to apologise. 

Daniel (loivering the paper). Oh, have you ? {Turns to them.) 

Evangeline. Oh, won't you please be nice and make it easier 
for us ? 

Daniel. You none of you made things in the least easy for 
me. 

Evangeline. I know we didn't, but we're all sorry — frightfully 
sorry — we've talked it all over. Sylvia said we were beasts and 
ghouls and we wouldn't admit it then, but we do now. We are 
terribly ashamed of the way we've behaved. Please, please say 
you forgive us. {Kneels to him.) 

Bobbie {jjlacing chair behind Chesterfield). And it doesn't matter 
about Faith, uncle, I'm glad you were the means of showing her up. 
I don't love her a bit now. I hate her, and we all want you to 
understand that we'd rather have you alive and with us than all 
the beastly money in the world. 

Joyce {leaning fonvard over table). And we'll do anything you 
like to atone for it. We'll abase ourselves like they Used to in the 
olden days to show they repented. 

Oliver. Will you let it go at that, micle ? {He comes forward 
to L. of Daniel.) 

Daniel (so/%). I should just think I will. (J^Tisses Evangeline.) 

(Joyce comes round and kisses him. Oliver moves down l. Evange- 
line 7noves beTiiml table.) 

Joyce {running to r.). Sylvia ! Sylvia ! Mother, come here ! 
It's all right ! 

{Enter Mrs. Dermott froyn r.) 

Mrs. Dermott. I've just come out of the boiler. What on 
earth is all this noise ? 

Joyce. We've all made it up with Uncle Daniel and he's forgiven 
us. 

Mrs. Dermott. I'm sure I'm very glad, darlings, and I hope 
you're none of you too old to take a lesson from it. {Gomes to 
DaisTiel's r.) 

{Enter Sylvia downstairs.) 

Sylvla. Is everything forgiven and forgotten ? 
Daniel. Everything. {Rising.) 

{Enter Griggs, r., with cablegram.) 

Griggs {handing it to Uncle Daniel). For you, sir. 
Daniel. Excuse me. {Takes it, opens it in silence and reads 
it.) My God ! 

Mrs, Dermott. What is it, dear, what is it ? 

E 



66 "I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU;" 

Daniel. It's not true ! After all these years, I can't believe 
it! 

Sylvia. What is it, Uncle, tell us, tell us, quick. 

Daniel. It's from my agent. Listen ! (Reads.) " Struck 
big vein, Santa Lyta mine — come at once ! " I'm worth thousands, 
thousands. {Going down R. gives Mrs. Dermott telegram as he 
passes her. The others, except Sylvia, crowd round her c, excited at 
tJie news.) 

Mrs. Dermott. There now. ... I told you so. 

Sylvia {coming h. of him). Uncle! Did you send that telegram 
to yourself ? 

Uncle. Yes ! ! ! 

Curtain. 



Words by EsmI; Wynne. 
Andante grazioso. 



" jfattb/' 



Music by Noel Coward. 






1. The sweetest name that ever I heard is 

2. The deir-est name that ever I heard is 







mil 



I 



Faith,. 
Faith,. 



fair - er thsn the voice of Sprin^;; it 
Thougii all the gifts of God were mine to 



seems;.... 
choose 



;tf=r-: 



:U-g 



:=fc 






-a- ^ -m- 



f f 



w~y- 



S^i 



^: 



T^ 



I 

And 



ritard. 



:2_.e?_«_;: 



^ ^^^^g f^giigg 



a tempo. 



l^ 



think all day on its de-light, And when my eyes are dim with night A gin-gles'.ar shines 
I wereLord of night andday.At Love'sdear shrine I still would pray" For Thee this pow'r and 

coUa voce. 

-A- 



SfeSE^feSES 




ev - er thro' my dreams The star ofFait.'i. 

treasure I would lose." Just give me Faith. 





68 



" I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 69 

ACT I 

L Club fender. 

■^ 2. Small sideboard. 

3. Chesterfield. 

4. Jacobean form. 

5. Armchair. 

6. Small sideboard. 

7. Chair. 

8. Armchair. 

9. Chair. 

10. Small table. 

11. Expanding table. If difficulty is experienced in obtaining an expanding 
table, a small table can be used for the first two acts and a table of sufficient 
size to seat three people on one side substituted for the last act. 

12. 13 and 14. Chairs. 
15, 16 and 17. Cushions. 

18. Gong. 

19. Hall stand and hats. 

20. Chair. 

21. Small table. 

22. Mirror. 

23. Electric hght switch. 

ALTERATIONS FOR ACT II 

Open out aU curtains in windows. 

Open window up L.c. 

Remove 2 and 7. 

Substitute in their places a Baby Grand piano and a piano stool. 

Bring 9 and 10 dowTi to above table (11) — the chair facing window L 

Change cushions. 

Place model of motor on piano. 

Place typewriter on 10, cover beside it. 

Change fiowers. 

Place papers on window seats, Chesterfield, table and form. 

Flowers in grate. 

Ash tray on club fender. 

Matches on mantel. 

Syphon and glasses on sideboard. 

Writing materials and music paper on 11. 

ALTERATIONS FOR ACT III 

Put back 10 to original position. 

Change 12 and 5. 

Put 4 by table, side nearest the audience. 

Place 7, 9, 14 on opposite side. 

13 at foot of table, nearest window L. 

Lay breakfast for eight on table, consisting of rose bowl in centre, toast 
rack, marmalade, entree dish, plate of bread, butter, tray of teacups, etc., 
sugar, pile of plates, and for each person a bread plate, a serviette, a fork, two 
knives. 

Remove racquet and models. 

Close piano. 

Put cover on typewriter. 

Remove most papers, ash trays, etc. 

Remove everjrthing from sideboard. 

Place daily papers on window seat l. 

Letter on table. 



70 



"I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 



PROPERTY PLOT 



ACT I 

Carpet. 

Rugs. 

Chesterfield. 

2 sideboards (Jacobean). 

Club fender. 

Low form (Jacobean). 

Oblong table (Jacobean) to seat 8. 

Typewriter table. 

Armchair. 

6 small chairs 1 t i 

o , . }• Jacobean. 

2 armchairs j 

2 pairs window curtains. 

Cushions on mndow seats. 

Pictures (hunting prints). 

Book (Evangeline) oflf r. 

Telegram (Griggs) off r. on salver. 

Door bell effect off R. 

Books and periodicals on table. 

Crepe-de-chine " undies." 

Fire-irons, etc. 

Winter flowers in vases. 

Salver (off r.). 

Hall-stand. 

Coats, hats, etc. 

Mirror on stairs. 

ACT II 

Typewriter with cover. 
Miscellaneous papers. 
Model of motor engine on board on 
piano. 

Manuscript music paper on table. 

Writing materials on table. 

Pencil (Bobbie). 

Baby C4rand piano and stool. 

Quantity of sheet music. 

Door knock effect off R. 

Knitting (Evangeline) off R. 

Illustrated papers. 

Motor horn effect off r. 

Matches on mantel. 

Tantalus on sideboard R. 

Syphon of soda. 

2 glasses (whisky). 

Cigarette case (Daniel). 

Cigarette case (Mrs. Crombie). 

Glass jug of water. 

Telegram (Mrs. Dermott off l.). 



Tennis Racquet off r. 

Cigarettes. 

Ash tray on club fender. 

Waste- paper basket. 

Bank of flowers in fireplace. 

ACT III 
5 morning papers on window seat 

L.C. 

Bunch of roses (Sylvia) off R. 
Suit case (Daniel) off r.c. 
Gong and beater off R. 
Flower bowl. 
Letter on table. 
Teapot off r. with tea for one. 
Cablegram off r. 

Plate, fork and spoon on sideboard. 
Paper on C^hesterfield. 
Breakfast for 8 people as follows : — 
Large silver tray for teacups. 
Small silver tray off r. 
Tablecloth. 
Table centre. 
8 medium plates. 
8 small plates. 
16 knives (small). 
8 forks (small). 

8 breakfast cups and saucers on 
silver tray. 
8 spoons. 
8 serviettes. 
Cruet. 
2 toast racks and toast. 

1 toast rack and toast off r. 
Marmalade dish and marmalade. 
Butter dish and " butter." 
Sugar bowl and sugar. 

Spoons for sugar and marmalade. 
Entree dish with " bacon." 
Entree dish with mushrooms off r. 

2 large spoons and forks. 
Cut bread on plate. 

Coffee urn and coffee off r. (for 
five). 

Milk jug and hot milk off r. 

Bread fork. 

Sugar tongs. 

Rosebowl. 

Butter knife. 



I'LL LEAVE IT TO YOU." 71 



ELECTRIC PLOT 

ACT I 

Table lamp on table l.c. ) connected by practical switch R. side of 

Hanging lamp on stairs ) Bannisters out to open. 

2 wall brackets. 

Bell push above fireplace. 

Fire (alight). 

Red lime in fireplace. 

Floats. C. and O.P. sections, white, slightly down on resistance to open. 

No. 1 batten. C. section only. White. 

P. perches. Dark amber to open. 

O.P. perches. 1 red, 1 dark amber. 

Light amber on garden backings. 

Lengths in corridor and stairway. 

At Cue. " Thank God Fve got you.'''' Slowly check floats, batten, and 
backing limes (garden). 

At Cue. " Do let's hurry.'''' Bring up floats and No. 1 batten as Bobbie 
switches on lamps. Change P. perches to light amber and O.P. red to 
dark amber. 

At Cue. Sylvia drawing curtains, slowly check backing limes out. 



ACTS II AND III. 

Same sections of floats and batten as Act I. 

Full up, white. 

O.P perches, light amber. 

P. perches, flood white. 

Garden backings flood white, and into room tire off. Lamps and brackets off. 



Printed in Great Britain by Butler & Tanner, Frame and London 



^S/. 



PLAYS BY HORACE ANNESLEY VACHEIJ. 

TWO SHILLINGS NET 

QUINNEYS' 

JELF'S 

SEARCHLIGHTS 

THE CASE OF LADY CAMBER 

SAMUEL FRENCH, Ltd. 



</ 



' vSjjf.i ■-;■ ■ ■ 



Continued from second page of coVer. 

SCENERY 



Our Btock of scenery consists of 

The Oak Chamber Set. 

This scene will be foimd suitable for the pvirpose of an 
ordinary interior in nearly all plays requiring a room 
which is not representing a drawing-room, kitchen, or a 
very poverty-stricken type of room. The kind of furni- 
ture used in it will naturally do much to indicate the 
status of the people inhabiting it. 

The Drawing^Room Chamber. 

This scene has been prepared on exactly the same 
lines as the oak chamber, and with the same object in 
view — the increase in both height and width according 
to requirements. 

Both Large and Small Garden Scenes 

Small Wood Scene 

A Drop Scene 

Puffed Satin Paper for Proscenium 

Fireplaces 

House-'piece for Street Scene 

Interior Window and Interior Door 

FULLY ILLUSTRATED CATALOGUE 

sent gratis on application to SAMUEL FRENCH, Ltd., 26 

Soutbampton Street, Strand, W.C.2; or 28 West 38tli Street, 

New York Uty, U.S.A. 



The Latest Additions 

to 

Frenches Acting Edition 

2470 AFFINITIES. In one act hy Vpnxm Wood- 

hoitse . . . . . , , Is. 

2471 WAITING FOR THE 'BUS. b> 

Gertrude E. Jennings . . .Is, 

2472 ELEGANT EDWARD. In one ad by Gertrude 

E. Jennings and E. Boulton . ... Is 

2478 HOW THEY KEPT HER. In one act by Vernon 

Woodhoaae . . . . . . .18. 

2474 TOE MAJOR EXPLAINS. A duologue by 

W. R. WaDces . . . . , . .is. 

2475 HOLED OUT IN ONE. In one or two acts by 

Claude Radcliflfe . . . . . . Is, 

2476 AT THE RIBBON COUNTER. In one act by 

Gertrude E. Jennings Is. 

2477 OUR MR. HEPPLEWHITE. In three acts by 

Gladys Unger . . . , . . . 2s, 

2*78 THE MAN FROM TORONTO. In three acts 

by Douglas Munay . . . . 2s. 

2479 THE GREEN FLAG. In three acts by Keble 

Howard . . ..... 2s. 

2480 NO SERVANTS. In one act by Gertrude E. 

Jennings . . . . . . .Is. 

2481 POSTAI. (^UDERS. In one act by Roland 

Pertwee . Is. 

2482 KEEPING UP APPE/URANCES. In one act 

by W. W. Jacob. . ... , .Is. 

2483 JEALOUSY. A duoloffat by Dawson Milward Is. 

2484 THE IRRESISTIBLE MARMADUKE. In 

three acts by Ernest Denny . . . . ;2s. 

348d WE PL'RSE STRINGS. In fear acts W 

Bernard Farrj' . . . ' i . .2s. 

2486 HISTORY REPEATS ITSELF. A duologue 

by Dawson Milwsrd . .... , Is. 

' ■ ' ' I I II I M il " ii ni ' i 

The published prices are net 



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Treatment Date: May 2009 

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